


Lost in the Echo Part VI

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [46]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complicated Battle Plans, F/F, F/M, Force Ghosts, GFY, M/M, Sith Adepts, Ware the Bun Meter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything goes according to plan, except when it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in the Echo Part VI

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumblr crew](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tumblr+crew), [who pretty much made this chapter happen with encouraging screaming](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=who+pretty+much+made+this+chapter+happen+with+encouraging+screaming).



> BetaBetaBeta credit: Norcumi and Obae-Wan, the latter of whom is trying to set GoogleDocs on fire with the power of their mind.
> 
> NOTE: This season I prove that I really cannot do math when I’m that tired. I fucked up, counted years wrong, and had to retcon all of Echo’s dating by a full year. Whoops.
> 
> (I have been stressed as fuck-all this month, so the chapter's timing kinda suffered. Sorry about that, guys. Maybe when the podlings get back into school, I can catch up on comments! Optimism is totally a thing!)
> 
> See Notes at the End for an Add-on to the graphic violence tag.

Imperial Year 27: 2/3rd

Alliance-observed Old Republic Date 5239

Lothal

 

“Did you find anything?” Ahsoka asked bluntly, the moment Wolffe reported in.

Wolffe had his rifle slung back over his shoulder, safety engaged, and hadn’t palmed another weapon in the meantime. “Well, the woman in charge of the kitchen is absolutely fucking terrifying.”

Ahsoka’s lip twitched. “I don’t think that counts as suspicious.”

“No, and I had to escape before she stuffed enough food into my mouth to choke an entire battalion,” Wolffe said, a touch of nausea suddenly painting his features. “If that was an assassination attempt, it would be slow arterial poisoning. I don’t think anyone in existence is that damned patient.”

“At least no one is going hungry.” Ahsoka crossed her arms. The scope of the Lothal operation was still making her twitchy. She was used to stumbling over independent rebel outfits that were scrambling and starving. Efficiency was typically an Imperial aspect of life; if you weren’t Imperial, you didn’t have resources unless you were part of the larger Alliance.

“Not with that woman in charge, they’re not.” Wolffe smiled. “Last I saw Bridger, he was drowning under a pile of younglings.”

Ahsoka was surprised by that. “Bridger isn’t usually good with kids.”

Wolffe grinned. “Hero worship. He’s famous on the ground.”

“Is Wren laughing at him?” Ahsoka asked.

“Nah. The Spectres are famous, too. Wren is painting people’s armor like the mad little genius she is. Jarrus and Syndulla are fielding questions. Orrelios hid himself somewhere.”

 _Poor Zeb,_ Ahsoka thought, while trying not to smile. “What about Rex?”

Wolffe shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in a while. I imagine he tracked down Kenobi.”

Ahsoka frowned at the smirk on Wolffe’s face. “Am I missing something?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s not my place to say. You want to know, you go ask for yourself, Commander.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “You say that like you expect me _not_ to do that.”

Wolffe just smiled again and pointed at the tunnel closest to her left. “Couple more turns involved, though. Watch for the signs.”

The problem with watching for the signs was that the tunnels were crowded, making the indicators difficult to see without shoving people out of the way. She turned in a full circle in the next junction before snagging the sleeve of the first passing Lothal, a female Gand. “Have you got a moment, Lady?”

The Gand turned and caught sight of Ahsoka, and her eyes widened. Ahsoka was worried that she’d accidentally caused offense when the Gand gushed, “You are _so pretty!_ ”

“Er.” Her face had to be reflecting her awkwardness. She’d grown up hard and fast, and somehow in all of her years, taking a compliment that didn’t revolve around her ability to destroy things or collect intelligence had fallen by the wayside. “Thank you. Can you tell me where medical is?”

“Two more rights and a left. Are you injured?”

“No.” Ahsoka made herself smile. “I might be about to strangle someone for not providing me with potentially critical information, but I’ll be in the right place for it.”

The Gand laughed and went on her way. Ahsoka took a deep breath, centering herself and regaining her serenity, before continuing in the direction indicated.

She could smell the bacta and antiseptics associated with medical treatment before she found the area in question. Her steps slowed as she approached the wide doorway, which was spilling too-bright light out into the dim corridor.

It was only a moment’s debate before she leaned up against the wall in hearing distance instead of announcing her presence. The Council had sent her out into Separatist space to spy for the Republic before she’d been of legal age on Coruscant, and that task had set a lifelong habit.

It took another minute of filtering to separate out the medical center’s thread of conversation from the babble of voices echoing through the Warren’s tunnels. The first thing Ahsoka heard was Obi-Wan’s voice, sounding a bit startled: “You can read it?”

 _Read what?_ she wondered, and then Rex’s voice answered. “Stole a data disk that made a study of the old dialect a few years after you dropped off the radar.”

Oh. Ahsoka felt guilty, and tried to bury the emotion. In some ways, Rex was a better Jedi student than she’d ever been. Rex had picked up at least a quarter of the old language, enough to be conversant, while Ahsoka still only knew the basic phrases she’d learned as an Initiate.

Rex had once offered to teach her. She told him to make the offer again when the Empire was defeated, knowing full well that both of them might not live to see it.

“You got married?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. Master Obi-Wan had never really struck her as the type to wed.

“I did.” She would have to be deaf and Force-blind not to pick up on Obi-Wan’s frustration. “A few years ago now.”

Rex sounded amused. “I know that name. Care to explain how you married a dead man, General?”

_What?_

“It’s a very, very long story.”

“Summarize it, I’m curious.” Rex, pushing without making it obvious. Then again, maybe he didn’t have to.

“Death, time travel, persistence, Mortis, time travel.”

_WHAT?_

Rex expressed her feelings nicely. “Never summarize anything ever again.”

Ahsoka’s montrals were picking up on old echoes; her chest hurt. Mortis.

The Ones. She had literally not thought of those beings in decades.

Her Master would never tell her what had happened after she blacked out, but Ahsoka had long suspected that she’d died, at least for a few moments. Skyguy had been too frantic, and Obi-Wan had been extremely solicitous for weeks afterward. Not that he would allow Anakin to slack off on her training—he wouldn’t insult her that way. There had just been an emphasized level of kindness that had been…odd.

Ahsoka edged closer to the open doorway. Mortis still did not explain time travel and _death,_ and that was ignoring the fact that the blasted planet had disappeared after spitting them back out into space.

“What in the entire fuck, Kenobi?”

Ahsoka bit her lip and waited for Obi-Wan’s reply. “I’d really rather not explain that more than once. It’s…it’s complicated.”

There was a pause, and then she could sense sharp recognition, followed immediately by shock as Rex made one of his terrific leaps in logic. “You didn’t fake your death on the Death Star, did you?”

For a terse second, Ahsoka thought he meant that Obi-Wan hadn’t been there at all. Then reality filtered in; Obi-Wan had already confessed to the truth. Rex was only fitting the pieces together.

“I told you—I was certain that I was never going to see you again.”

Ahsoka put both hands over her mouth and refused to gasp. Force, no wonder it all seemed too good to be true. All of this was utterly impossible.

_No, just highly improbable, Spy-girl._

Ahsoka gave a guilty start at Obi-Wan’s mental voice, and then indignance filtered in. Anakin had called her that when he and Obi-Wan invaded Sep space to come and bail her out of Sith levels of trouble.

_Hey, there’s my darling little Spy-girl Padawan!_

Ahsoka had blushed when Anakin hugged her. _Skyguy, you can’t call me that. It’s awful._

Anakin was entirely unrepentant. _Shut up, I missed you._

Then Obi-Wan had shoved them both off of the landing platform and jumped after them when the bounty hunters came calling.

_Stop skulking in the hallway and come inside._

“I am not _skulking_ ,” Ahsoka retorted as she walked into medical. Rex and Obi-Wan were sitting next to each other on the bed furthest from the door. Rex looked as disturbed as she felt. Obi-Wan just seemed tired. No; resigned.

Ahsoka couldn’t doubt his identity any longer. Rex’s certainty aside, the Force was all but screaming that her grandmaster sat before her. “It really is you.”

“Unfortunately.” Obi-Wan gave her a warm smile that was exactly as it would have been twenty-five years ago. “Bail never told me about you, that you were alive. He must have thought that I knew.”

That did answer one of her now-thousands of questions. “I guess I never realized Master Windu would have kept it a secret from you, too.”

She saw a flash of something hard and angry in his eyes, and then it was gone. “There was a lot of that going on in the Council chamber towards the end of the war. I’m really not pleased that he didn’t tell me about you when I saw him again, almost three years after Sixty-Six. The situation was complicated, but that…that is sort of an unforgivable lapse.”

Ahsoka halted in surprise, not quite in arm’s reach of Rex. “I thought Master Windu died during that fabricated assassination attempt against Palpatine.”

Obi-Wan seemed startled by that. “Or perhaps I’m just being exceptionally paranoid, if Bail didn’t tell you about Mace, either. He was badly injured and thought dead, but no. He didn’t actually die until 5223.”

Ten years after the formation of the Empire. Ahsoka knew that they had all been keeping secrets, compartmentalizing vital information in case of capture or betrayal. Learning of Master Windu’s survival and much later death made her wonder what else Prince Organa had remained quiet about, at further risk to himself and his family.

“Prince Organa told me that Cypher was a Jedi he knew during the war,” Ahsoka offered.

“Well.” Obi-Wan graced her with another faint smile, more wry amusement than true humor. “That’s true enough.”

Rex smirked. “Knew him very well.”

Obi-Wan gave Rex a stern look. “Don’t you get smug on me again, Commander.”

Rex put his hand over his heart. “Oh, that was a low blow, _sir_.”

Ahsoka glanced back and forth at them before groaning and putting both of her hands over her face. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I overlooked that much obvious body language.”

“It wasn’t that obvious,” Obi-Wan protested.

“Eel called me on it after Sixty-Six, Kenobi. Some of them knew, they just weren’t blabbing.”

Ahsoka dropped her hands. “Are you two, er—”

“Friends, Tano,” Rex said, sparing her the indignity. “Well, we were.”

“Are,” Obi-Wan corrected, all but rolling his eyes. “If you need specifics, Master Tachi used to call it, ‘friends with benefits.’”

“But then you had to go and get married, and there go the benefits.” Rex grinned at Kenobi. “Now you’ll never get that blowjob.”

Ahsoka blushed and decided that burying her face in her hands again was the better part of valor. “I hate you both so very much right now.”

 _“Sima’laicee_ _Tanno’baijii_ ,” Obi-Wan teased, “do you think a marriage would stop me from cashing in that chit?”

“Oh, so it’s not that kind of marriage, huh?” Rex asked.

“Please stop talking,” Ahsoka begged them. There were some things one just never wanted to discover about one’s grandmaster, and this was all of them. Even knowing that _Sima’laicee Tanno’baijii_ was an innocent phrase didn’t help, not the way Obi-Wan was saying it. Peacekeeper married to the Jedi, indeed.

“Not exactly,” Obi-Wan said, blithely ignoring her request. “Trust me, he knows about you. And Bail, for that matter.”

Ahsoka gave up and resigned herself to terrible, inappropriate, unavoidable speculation. “Does this have anything to do with the dying and, oh, the _time travel_ you mentioned?”

“A bit,” Obi-Wan said, looking past her. Ahsoka turned her head to find Jade standing in the doorway, holding a bundle of clothing in her arms.

Jade scowled at Ahsoka as she approached, and then her expression smoothed out to something more neutral when she looked at Obi-Wan. “You don’t have a shirt left that doesn’t have a hole in it, you know.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I thought as much.” He caught the bundle when Jade tossed it at him. “Would you escort our guests to our usual spot outside?”

“Are we going to take them out and leave them there?” Jade asked.

Obi-Wan smiled. “No, Mara.”

“That’s disappointing,” Jade said. “I’ll go pry the others out of Lothal’s grasp, then.”

Ahsoka waited until the echo of Jade’s footsteps faded. “She’s charming.”

“You make her nervous.” Obi-Wan stood up and then groaned, putting his hand on his injured shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m crawling into the sonics to wash off yesterday’s adventure.”

“You’re calling shit like that an adventure now, huh?” Rex asked, looking grim.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Almost no one died, and it had a pleasant ending. I count that as a good day.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Water would have been so much better, but Lothal’s carefully filtered ground water was reserved for drinking and meals only. Sonics did a good job of penetrating the fog in his brain, regardless, which was enough to make him want to pace the severely limited confines of medical’s shower.

Obi-Wan settled for stripping the bandage from his shoulder and healing the rest of the damage. When he was done, there was only a vague ache and angry, reddened skin remaining to mark the blaster wound. There was no scar, which was nice. Sometimes no amount of Force healing could keep the scars at bay.

Obi-Wan glanced down at the bone white lightsaber scar on his stomach. Case in point. The passing years hadn’t done a damn thing to keep it from looking like half of an eight-pointed star.

Rex was standing in the middle of the room when Obi-Wan left the ’fresher, arms crossed and obviously waiting for him. “What are you still doing here?” Obi-Wan asked, trying not to sound offended. He wasn’t; he was _baffled_ , and probably for stupid reasons.

Gods. He hadn’t expected this—not any of them—and it was really throwing him mentally off-balance.

“Jade came back while you were in the shower, meaning to escort us both out to whatever you’re talking about. Then she changed her mind and told me to stay, said you might hide if left on your own too long,” Rex said. “I think she’d prefer to be the one pushing you around, but Jade is the only one of us who knows where to go.”

“That sounds about right.” Obi-Wan pulled on his boots and began the short process of replacing everything he carried around at all times. He had knives in each boot; the binding blade went into a special sheath he’d built into the underside of the leather bracer that hid his marriage vows from prying eyes. The blasters needed new power packs; his lightsaber did not.

By the time he was done, Rex was grinning at him. “You pick up the bitchiest damn Padawans, Kenobi. Is there a reason why she thinks you’re going to bolt?”

“Because I have avoided this conversation for two years, and I _still_ do not want to have it,” Obi-Wan said bluntly, while sorting through yesterday’s clothes. The shirt was an utter loss, but everything else was all right.

“That bad, huh?” Rex asked, sympathy in his eyes. Obi-Wan imagined they’d both traveled similarly hard roads.

“A bit.” Obi-Wan led the way out of medical, meaning to toss everything into his shared berth before going topside. “As I said, it’s complicated.”

“It usually is,” Rex said. Obi-Wan wondered if Mara had done as she’d threatened to do, and found another place to sleep. Then he chided himself for the thought—half-nuts and touch-starved or not, he did not need to turn this situation into more of a mess than it already was.

Even if he did want to legitimately scale that man like a tree.

The berth showed no signs of having been occupied during the night, but Mara was so precise with her living space that it was almost impossible to tell even under normal circumstances. Either Mara hadn’t been serious, or she’d been so paranoid about their guests that she hadn’t been back to claim her belongings.

“Why do they keep calling you Ben?” Rex asked, after the fourth person had called for his attention.

“It’s my name,” Obi-Wan replied, sweeping Ferris into his arms to give him the requested ride down to the next tunnel junction. The humanoid toddler wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck in a stranglehold, but he didn’t ask the boy to loosen his grasp. Ferris was an orphan; like all the other orphans in the tunnels, he had days where he desperately needed people, and days where he desperately wanted to hide. Hugging was always an improvement over hiding.

 _Fuck,_ Obi-Wan thought in dismayed realization. _I have the coping mechanism of a three-year-old._ Some days he wondered how he’d ever been named a Jedi Master.

“More specifically,” Obi-Wan continued, when he realized Rex was still waiting for an explanation, “it’s what my name would have been, if I hadn’t gone to the Order as a child. Ben Lars. I went by Ben after Sixty-Six.”

“Lars.” Rex frowned. “I’ve heard that name before—that kid who calls himself Skywalker. He was raised by a Lars family, right?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “That was my brother and his wife.”

Rex seemed disturbed by that. “You’re telling me that Luke Skywalker really is Anakin’s kid.”

“He is, yes.” Obi-Wan lowered Ferris down to the ground when he prodded Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Rex was silent, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the information given.

Ferris lingered long enough to hug Rex’s legs. A younger captain would have endured it with uncomfortable stoicism. The man he was now only ruffled the child’s hair and sent him off with a gentle nudge.

Obi-Wan noticed a detail that he’d missed before. The emblem on Rex’s vambrace was small, the paint starting to fade, but its shape unmistakable. “The Order’s symbol?”

Rex held up his arm to glance at the gold emblem. “Yeah. Vengeance for the Order. Figured it was appropriate.”

“Gold is for vengeance,” Obi-Wan murmured, and then felt like a complete idiot. “I’d forgotten that.”

“Is that a problem? You look like you’ve just bitten into something sour,” Rex said.

Obi-Wan rubbed his face with one hand. “No, it’s not a problem. I was just—dammit. I hope that’s just a coincidence.”

“What is?” Rex asked, but Obi-Wan shook his head. That was going to wait for the proper time.

The tunnel exited out at the foothills of the nearest mountain chain. It was not the one he’d met their guests at, which was younger, full of bluffs and canyons that made it easier to hide in. These were old hills, rounded and flattened by time.

Mara had taken him at his word. Most of their guests were present, as well as Silver Greene. Wren’s lack was not concerning; the most important people he needed for this were those who’d known him years ago.

“You, too, hmm?” he asked Silver.

Silver gave him a flat look. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to hear this for a long time. Besides, you owe me for last night.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, glancing at them all. There were five Jedi on this hillside. Five. The presence of other Force sensitives after two years of that horrible emptiness in the Force, the silence of too few Force sensitives in a vast galaxy, was enough to ramp up his energy to manic levels. If he didn’t burn some of that off, he was going to talk to them while pacing a hole through the rocky ground. “Mara.”

Mara understood immediately, and didn’t seem surprised. “All right. Kata or open?”

“Kata, from the fifth onward,” Obi-Wan said, and shucked his jacket. “I’m sorry,” he said to the others. “I promise there will be an explanation, but if I don’t calm down I might actually blow up part of a mountain by accident.”

“Nervous energy?” Ahsoka asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Not quite that.” Obi-Wan and Mara ignited their lightsabers and raised the blades under the watchful eyes of Ahsoka, Rex, Wolffe, Orrelios, Hera Syndulla, Kanan, Silver, and Kanan’s apprentice, Ezra Bridger.

“It’s more like potential that demands to be used.” Obi-Wan started pacing Mara through the kata. She was at accepted full speed for the kata already, after only six months of training. She could probably perform it even faster—Mara Jade had the potential to become one of the most devastating duelists the Jedi had ever seen.

The kata was meant to be close and tight, lightsabers moving only short distances before being intercepted and deflected. It made the kata sound like a pitched battle; in truth it was only an exercise of twisting bodies, the swift movement of limb and the perfect placement of each step.

The kata was also extremely easy to fuck up. Micah Giett had hounded himself and Qui-Gon for two blasted years, trying to teach them how to get it right.

The others waited until the kata was finished. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Kanan said, resting his chin on his clasped hand. “It’s not from the Seventh, or the Third. The style is wrong.”

“It’s not the Fourth or the Sixth, either.” Ahsoka crossed her arms. “The Fifth, maybe?”

“Next one, three-quarter speed,” Obi-Wan directed Mara.

Mara frowned. “I can do that one at full speed, too.”

“I know. Humor me.” Mara didn’t argue, but her lightsaber slamming into place against his own was a clear indicator of her displeasure.

Obi-Wan raised a warning eyebrow. _You cannot let your emotions rule you in combat, or you’ll die._

Mara’s jaw was clenched as they went through the first and second passes. _I’m not sorry._

Obi-Wan smiled. She hadn’t done it again, and her control was back to where it should be. “The katas are unfamiliar because they are from the Eleventh Form.”

“Eleventh?” Bridger repeated, surprised. “But Kanan only mentioned seven forms! Are you holding out on me?” he asked his Master.

Kanan rolled his eyes. “No, Ezra, I am not, ‘holding out on you.’ I’ve never heard of it before.”

“It wasn’t on the official lists,” Ahsoka told them, watching the kata with quiet, intense focus. “Which means it was a work in progress, not a completed form of lightsaber fighting.”

 _I would be so much more comfortable if they would all shut up,_ Mara groused.

 _Distractions are a part of the job. Concentrate on me, not them,_ Obi-Wan replied. “It was eventually finished, but never introduced to the Temple at large because of its creator’s untimely death during the Yinchorri Uprising.”

He let Mara lead through the second half of the kata, her eyes narrowed as she paid strict attention to the exercise without shutting out her awareness of the noises, and people around them. “Master Micah Giett once spent half of his life creating his own unique form of lightsaber dueling. Then Mace Windu surprised everyone by introducing the Seventh.”

Obi-Wan felt a brief pang of sadness. None of the Jedi present were old enough to remember Micah. He was in the odd position of thinking of Micah as being alive, and yet Obi-Wan grieved anew because here, he was long dead.

“Micah was distinctly unhappy about being beaten out of the Seventh spot. In retaliation, he thumbed his nose at Mace and declared that his form was the Eleventh, because it was too good for the other numbers.”

Wolffe was frowning at them. “Looks like you’re both trying to fight in a box.”

“That is what it was designed for, yes. Lightsaber combat in extremely tight spaces. Instead of a crippled defense or offense, you know how to make the space work to your advantage.” Obi-Wan smiled at his Padawan, who almost drew back in dismay. She’d figured out a long time ago not to trust that particular expression. “It is also the most difficult of all the known lightsaber forms.”

“Looks like it,” Rex said, watching their footwork. “I really can’t tell how you haven’t tripped all over each other and tied yourselves up in knots.”

“Practice,” Obi-Wan said, and felt his smile widen as he noticed Mara’s glower. “Yes, Mara?”

“You started my training with the _most difficult_ lightsaber form in existence?” Mara’s eyes were such a vibrant, electric green it was a wonder they didn’t throw sparks.

“And you’ve learned in six months what took me almost two years,” Obi-Wan countered, allowing just a bit of smugness to color his voice. “It really is amazing what one can do if they haven’t been told it isn’t possible.”

Mara finished the kata and stepped back after tapping Obi-Wan’s lightsaber once. “You used me to make a point.”

“Given the presence of our other guest? Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan said, shutting down his lightsaber and turning around. Bridger was side-eying Yoda, who was staring at Bridger with comically wide eyes and a too-crooked smile. “Yoda, be nice. You’re his first Force ghost.”

“Yoda?” Ahsoka gasped.

“Nice, I was being!” Yoda protested.

Bridger leapt an impressive two meters back from Yoda. “Fuck, it talks, the tiny blue ghost talks!”

Kanan caught him by the shoulder, staring in the direction Bridger was focused on. “I don’t—I don’t see anything.”

“But sense something, you do,” Yoda murmured, pleased.

“There’s nothing there, but...” Ahsoka looked distressed. “If I said there were no such things as Force ghosts, I would be wrong, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and then looked down at Yoda. “They need to be able to see you.”

Yoda’s ears went up. “Focused, I am,” he retorted. “Visible, I easily am, to those who know how to look.”

“And I don’t have time to waste letting them figure it out on their own. You’re about to suffer the indignity of becoming a glowing Force nightlight,” Obi-Wan shot back.

Yoda’s ears twitched and stretched out flat. “A nightlight, I do not wish to be.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “You will let me make you visible to everyone else, or I will stuff your spirit into a brick and bury you in the earth for fifty years. I know good courier companies who will be happy to dig up a random brick at an appointed time for a few thousand credits.”

Mara snickered and then quickly schooled her expression back to cool amusement. “Let him do it, ancient hellspawn. Being trapped in a brick for half a century sounds boring.”

“Box, Yoda,” Obi-Wan added in a softer voice. “You owe me.”

Yoda made a noise that in life would have been an irritated sigh. “Permanent, it had better not be.”

Obi-Wan didn’t even bother with a response. Consent was granted, he had a busy damned day ahead, and he wasn’t going to waste time arguing. He called on the Force, gentle threads that twined around his fingers. Some were white; most were fog-colored. There were also a few darker, muted reds mixed in—that was the essence of Lothal, a planet on the verge of true ecological damage but still brimming with potential. He wrapped those threads around the Force ghost until only a blue corona remained around Yoda’s body, which appeared solid and alive.

“That’s what you jumped away from?” Orrelios asked in disbelief, laughing at Bridger. “He’s so damned tiny I could probably drop-kick him across half the continent!”

Rex shook his head. “Orrelios, you would deserve whatever Master Yoda would do to you,” he said, and then offered Yoda a short bow. “General.”

“Commander,” Yoda returned cheerfully. “Commander Wolffe! Well, are you?”

Wolffe rubbed his eyes before dropping his hands. “I’m good. Hallucinating tiny blue ghost Jedi, but I’m fine. How the hell are you not bothered by this, Rex?”

Rex shrugged. “Got used to my generals doing weird shit a long time ago, Wolffe.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Mara said to Bridger. “I thought he was a hologram.”

Silver smiled at the ghost. “That does explain why the kids have been talking about a shiny blue gremlin in the tunnels.”

Kanan and Ahsoka were both staring at Yoda in wide-eyed disbelief. “This isn’t a trick, right?” Kanan asked, his voice cracking on the last two words.

“Well, I can see him too, dear,” Hera said. “If Wolffe is hallucinating, we all are.”

“Master Yoda,” Ahsoka whispered, and dropped to her knees before the ancient Jedi.

Yoda reached out and patted Ahsoka’s knee. Obi-Wan knew from long experience that she would have felt the tingle of collected energy, but no actual touch. “Jedi Knight Ahsoka Tano,” he greeted her. “So sorry, I am, that your rank we once could not give. Suspicious eyes were cast our way. Endangered your life, public recognition might have.” His ears lowered in a visible display of sorrow. “Planned, we did, to grant you your Knighthood when recovered you were. Shattered were those plans—all our plans.”

Kanan knelt next to Ahsoka. “Master Yoda.”

Yoda smiled at Kanan and then pointed his gimer stick at the man. “Knighted your Padawan you have not. Why?”

Kanan winced. “Well, I—I’m not certain how to—how do you know when they’re ready?”

Yoda cackled. “Different for all, it is,” he said, while Bridger crept closer and pretended not to stare at the ghost. “Many Trials your Padawan has already faced. Ready, he is. Ready, _you_ were not.”

“Wait, are you really still worried that you’ll Knight me and I’ll take off and get myself killed immediately?” Bridger asked, looking at Kanan like he was out of his mind.

Kanan sighed. “Sorry.”

“No, actually, that’s the best reason I could think of for a delayed Knighthood,” Bridger said, and put his hand on Kanan’s shoulder. “By the way, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah.” Kanan reached up and covered Bridger’s hand with his own. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan had to look away. He was glad for them, but he missed Anakin fiercely, and that shared touch reminded him of so much, good and ill.

Ahsoka’s voice was soft. “When did you die, Master?”

“Hmm. Dates, I did not track,” Yoda answered. “No use had I for calendars. Master Obi-Wan?”

“As if I was so much more capable of tracking time,” Obi-Wan muttered, annoyed. He’d been following linear time, but that didn’t mean the passing days had meant anything. “At least five days before the Battle of Endor. Maybe seven.”

“I heard you,” Ahsoka said to Yoda. “A few days ago, I could have sworn I heard your voice.”

“Perhaps you did,” Yoda allowed, a sly glint in his eyes.

“So did I.” Kanan seemed perplexed. “Except you would still have been alive at the time. I heard your voice when I took Ezra into the Lothal Chamber, ten years ago.”

Obi-Wan turned back around to stare at the young Master in dismay. “You took your Padawan through the murder chamber?”

“Murder chamber?” Kanan repeated, just as Bridger yelped, _“Murder chamber?”_

Yoda started cackling. “Tell them that, you should not have!”

“I gathered that.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’m glad you both survived it, and please forget that I mentioned that particular Chamber’s nickname.”

“I’m not gonna be forgetting _murder chamber_ anytime soon.” Bridger gave Kanan a look of complete disbelief.

“I didn’t know!” Kanan protested, looking as if he’d swallowed something unfortunate.

“Was it actually Yoda, then?” Hera asked. “In the chamber?”

“Perhaps,” Yoda repeated, followed by another giggle that was not doing much to reassure any of them, let alone Bridger.

“Time is only linear as long as you’re trapped in a linear perspective,” Obi-Wan said. “Once you’re lacking a physical form, the same restraints no longer apply. You asked me about not looking my age?” he asked Bridger, who nodded. “I’m not sixty. I’m almost sixty-seven.”

There was a tense silence. Ahsoka broke it by climbing to her feet and exclaiming, “You are _what?”_

“How the hell does that work?” Wolffe asked in disbelief.

“An unfortunate dose of time travel,” Obi-Wan replied. “Among other things.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear what those ‘other things’ are.”

“It doesn’t revolve around fortunate genetics,” Mara said dryly. “That was Karrde’s guess.”

“You work for Talon Karrde?” Hera gave Mara an appraising glance that spoke of re-evaluating first impressions. “That explains some of the supplies I noticed in the tunnels, but he doesn’t deliver for free.”

“No, but he is reasonable.” Obi-Wan smiled. “Now that is a resource that the Alliance should consider cultivating. Karrde figured out the situation on Lothal over a year before anyone else.”

Ahsoka made a frustrated noise. “A year?”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Wolffe said. “We didn’t start hearing about the situation on Lothal until about three months ago, and that was me out there with feelers on the ground.”

Mara shook her head. “Karrde plays both sides of the border and values his neutrality. He’d never go for a direct contract.”

“He can keep telling himself that.” If Karrde thought he was still a neutral agent after signing a contract with a Jedi Master, supplying arms for a rebellion against the Empire, then he was deluding himself.

“Okay, since everyone else is beating around the bush, I’m gonna go ahead and ask.” Ezra gave Yoda another uncomfortable look and then cleared his throat. “Intel said you died on the first Death Star. Did you?”

Obi-Wan hesitated before inclining his head in confirmation. “I hope no one takes this the wrong way, as it is actually nice to see everyone again, but I am _really_ not supposed to be here.”

Ahsoka was starting to look uncomfortable. “Is that why you mentioned Mortis?”

“Mortis would be one of the major factors behind my being here, yes.” Obi-Wan sighed. Yoda’s presence was making his own return from the dead a bit easier to swallow, but that didn’t mean he wanted to go into details. “Let’s just say that death did little to improve that family’s disposition.”

“Is this some weird joke?” Orrelios was scowling. “Mortis is just another word for dead, and really, I could do without the wordplay.”

“Believe me, no one is more aware of how flat-out ridiculous my life is than I am,” Obi-Wan replied, voice flat. “But it’s not a joke. I’m not that creative.”

“I told you,” Rex said, looking at Wolffe. “Weird shit.”

Wolffe snorted. “No kidding.”

“We’re digressing,” Hera said, nudging Orrelios before he could comment again. “We’ve been here a grand total of nine hours, Master Kenobi. I’d like to know why we’re immediately being force-fed ghosts, wellsprings, and time travel.”

“After what Colonel Druhl did last night, I don’t have time to ease anyone into believing anything that is well outside their comfort zone. Lies lead to considerations of betrayal, and half-truths can foster resentment.” Obi-Wan frowned and glanced at Yoda. “Besides, the last time partial truths were relied upon, it almost led to _unmitigated fucking disaster._ ”

Yoda was calm in the face of the emphasized accusation. “Necessary, it was, to keep them safe.”

“I wasn’t talking about Anakin’s children,” Obi-Wan retorted, incensed by the blithe response. _“Th’on tif gahn piché!”_ He turned and walked a few steps away before that could degenerate further. He couldn’t just give in and terrify the lot of them to speed up the process. These were not the Republic Jedi who had kept their peace, learning by observing until they were convinced that Venge was not a threat. These were Jedi who had seen the rise of the Empire, the Purges, and all of the associated Sith villainy that Sidious had unleashed. They would not be so patient, or forgiving.

“What’d he say?” Bridger was asking.

“Called him a little green prick,” Rex translated. “We’re talking kids, plural?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Twins.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka breathed in realization. “She was adopted.”

“Let’s worry about your friend’s offspring later. Obi-Wan, you could have just kept quiet,” Silver said in a gentle voice. “You could have left us last year, and none of us would have blamed you. Why stay? Why do they—we—need to know these things?”

Obi-Wan gave Mara an apologetic look before turning to address the others. “Because we need the Alliance’s help.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Ezra wasn’t surprised when Hera called for a family meeting afterwards. It kind of fit the theme of the day, which was talking about weird things and trying to pretend it was normal.

Okay, so Kanan and Ahsoka and the twins were doing a good job of pretending it was normal. Ezra was still sort of freaked out by the ghost, not to mention the Jedi who _should_ have been a ghost.

Zeb just thought that all of it was stupid.

“Look, I’m used to you, Ezra, and Ahsoka doing the weird Jedi bit,” Zeb said, once everyone was gathered in the _Ghost II’_ s hold. “But I don’t get paid enough to deal with ghosts and crazy men who might or might not be dead Jedi Masters.”

“I’d be a lot more at ease with all of this if he _wasn’t_ Kenobi.” Rex pulled out the bench from the hold’s aft wall, locked it into place, and sat down like a weary old man. Ezra figured if an ex-girlfriend of his who was supposed to be dead turned up, he’d be unsettled by everything, too—not that he really had any ex-girlfriends.

“As much as I’ve missed him? I feel the same way.” Ahsoka settled next to Rex and leaned against his shoulder. “There is a lot he isn’t telling us.”

“Don’t really blame him,” Wolffe said. “We barely believe what they _did_ tell us.”

“Sabine, what did the Lothal have to say?” Kanan asked.

Sabine paused in cleaning out her airbrush, which had gotten a serious workout on Lothal body armor and weaponry. “Quite a bit. They’re a lot more talkative than I remember. The locals call him Ben Tanno’baijii, and they utterly adore him. Everything I’ve seen and heard points at a man who’s done nothing but good for Lothal. He doesn’t even go by Kenobi—I’m not sure if the Lothal know that Tanno’baijii and Kenobi are the same person.”

“Not really the act of someone who wants to be noticed for themselves,” Hera said.

“And he wasn’t expecting us,” Rex added. “Didn’t even know any of us were alive.”

“He wanted the Alliance’s attention, though,” Ezra said. “Right? I mean, why use an Alliance codename if he didn’t?”

“Oh, I think he did want the Alliance to assist with the Lothal,” Kanan agreed. “But the whole of that message, all of those names? I think that was for someone else.”

“Yes, but who?” Hera asked. “If Rex is correct, then there really isn’t anyone else even capable of translating that message—” She broke off and stared at the man when he went pale. “Rex?”

Wolffe swore a vicious streak that left Ezra’s ears burning. “As if we didn’t have enough problems.”

Ezra picked up on it before Ahsoka and Kanan, but then, they really had a lot of reasons not to want to consider it. “Vader _is_ dead…right?”

“That’s what Commander Skywalker reported to High Command.” Ahsoka crossed her arms and hunched inward.

“And if he wasn’t?” Sabine put down her kit. “Why lie about something like that?”

“Vader is supposed to have killed the Emperor,” Kanan said, and hesitated. “If Vader renounced the Dark Side, then he’d be a major asset to the Alliance. Yes, I know, it’s _Vader_ ,” he stressed, when everyone stared at him in disbelief, “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Hera was frowning. “If Vader was alive, millions of people would be screaming for blood. He’d be on trial for war crimes, at the very least.”

“Not to mention the Empire getting a morale boost that we really don’t need them feeling right about now,” Wolffe said. “If it got out that Vader was still around, we’d have every Star Destroyer left in the Imperial Fleet on our damned doorstep.”

“Almost no one knows who Vader used to be,” Ahsoka said in a quiet voice. “If they…rehabilitated him, or did whatever it required to get him out of that life support suit…”

“They could reintroduce General Skywalker to the galaxy, and no one would be the wiser.” Rex grimaced. “Fucking hells.”

“That would be an amazing morale boost for _our_ side.” Hera looked at Kanan. “It would just require certain of us to pretend we don’t know any better.”

“Can we even do that?” Sabine asked. “Hera does have a point about war crimes.”

Ahsoka and Kanan shared one of their mutual-Jedi looks that Ezra still didn’t quite understand. “I’d have to see him,” Ahsoka said at last. “I just can’t say otherwise.”

Zeb shifted on his feet. “How likely are we talking, here? I mean, the Alliance wouldn’t pull this on us. Would they?”

Kanan shook his head in frustration. “Zeb, today I met a Force ghost and spoke with a Jedi Master who’s supposed to be dead. At this point, I’m not discounting it as a possibility.”

Zeb snorted. “Great. We’ll be back to dealing with homicidal Sith in no time.”

“Garazeb.” Hera gave him a warning look. “Let’s try not to curse this entire venture, please.”

Zeb threw up his arms and stalked off towards his bunk, muttering under his breath. Ezra couldn’t blame him. He still had nightmares about the creeping chill that had always prefaced one of Vader’s appearances. “What do we do?”

“What we planned to do in the first place. We help the Lothal,” Kanan said. “We’ll worry about the rest later.”

“Sounds like our usual plans, then.” Sabine turned her attention back to Rex and Ahsoka. “Would you two even recognize him, if we got a visit from Not-Vader?”

Rex and Ahsoka glanced at each other. “I don’t know,” Ahsoka admitted. “I suppose it depends on whatever it was that put Vader into a life-support suit in the first place.”

“I know who we can ask to find out,” Rex said, but he didn’t look happy about it.

 

*          *          *          *

“What you’re asking isn’t possible.”

Obi-Wan braced his hands against the comm console and sighed. “No, I didn’t think it would be.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Karrde’s voice was almost buried in static as the signal dropped and then picked back up again. No doubt the Imperials were trying to listen in, but the encryption was secure. “None of the three mercenary groups we’d settled on would be able to make it in the timeframe given. Prep time aside, the closest fighter group is at least two days’ travel from Lothal.”

“I thought as much, but I had to ask,” Obi-Wan said.

Karrde was sympathetic, at least. “Down to the wire unexpectedly, I take it?”

“Druhl has proven himself to be a lot more inclined towards complete insanity than any of us bargained for.” Obi-Wan rubbed at his face. Fuck, he was tired, and he had no idea if there was going to be time to sit down, let alone nap. “I don’t suppose I could pay _you_ to provide extra support topside.”

Karrde snorted. “Running blockades is one thing. Tackling Star Destroyers in battle is something else, and I’m fond of being alive.”

“So am I,” Obi-Wan muttered. “All right, then. I’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sure it will be intriguing to hear about later, over brandy.” Karrde hesitated. “Please be sure that my employee is kept safe.”

“As much as I can,” Obi-Wan promised. “You should hear from us again in a few days.”

“And if I don’t?” Karrde asked.

“Don’t come back to Lothal. There won’t be anything left to find.”

“Cheerful,” Karrde said. “I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Obi-Wan disconnected the call and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Their Alliance options were in the same category as the mercenary groups. Except for a squad of fighters on Kamino, there was no help capable of making the trip in the time Obi-Wan thought they had left.

“Sir?”

Obi-Wan turned his head. “Sergeant,” he greeted Travaill, who briefly came to attention when he was acknowledged. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s more like what I could do for you, sir,” Travaill said. “I might have a solution to our problem.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“I didn’t want us to be pushed into this,” Ben said, “but at this point, we don’t have a choice.”

Mara looked around at the Lothal. Ben’s lieutenants formed most of the tight inner circle around the holographic briefing station. The rebels made up the last section, and to their credit, were listening just as professionally as the seasoned Lothal guerilla fighters. Behind that first circle were the rest of the adults actively involved in the fighting, the Warren’s noncom support staff, and their lone squad of ex-stormtroopers. The Lothal had done a lot to welcome those men into the fold, and after last night’s Imperial bombardment on Imps and rebels alike, the squad was suddenly a lot more active about clinging right back.

Ben straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, a subtle shift in body language that immediately drew all eyes to him. “We have two garrisons and eleven Star Destroyers roaming around over our heads. Colonel Druhl has revealed as of last night that he has no qualms about firing on his own men if it means nailing us in the same blast. Given that plan’s unexpected failure, I give it about twenty-six hours before Druhl decides to cut Imperial losses and simply annihilate the whole of Lothal from orbit.”

“Would he really do that?” Wren asked, visibly disturbed.

“He burned three civilian villages to the ground from orbit because they would not, _could_ not, give him what he asked for,” Ben replied.

“His idol is Grand Moff Tarkin,” Mara said, which made most of the rebels wince. Point to her; it was their group’s actions that Lothal had drawn Tarkin’s ire in the first place.

“I’m honestly surprised it hadn’t already occurred to Druhl to do so.” Hival’s long fingers were wrapped around the butt of his blaster, the only display of nerves Mara had ever seen from the Rodian. “We haven’t produced resources that will line Imperial coffers in years.”

“With the Empire in disarray, holdings are important to them.” Mara resisted the urge to scowl when the rebels gave her sharp, curious looks. The Togrutan kept prying for details about Mara’s past, and she wasn’t in the mood to share. “The Empire could be making trillions of credits on its enterprises, but the loss of territory would still make them look weak.”

“When it’s a galaxy used to the Imperial mindset of might making right? Oh, yes,” Ben agreed. “They’ll hold onto every single last planet for as long as possible.”

“Even when it flies in the face of all good sense,” Silver murmured.

Ben nodded at Silver. “It comes down to this: We have to get rid of those damned SDs.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Bret muttered.

“None of us really signed up for ‘easy,’” Grey said. “What are our options?”

“Not many,” Ben replied. “Our guests have offered to supply a second freighter, capable of—”

“Dainty, highly maneuverable spatial destruction,” Syndulla supplied.

“—and a full squadron of A-wings,” Ben continued, after raising an eyebrow at Syndulla. “That puts us at two armed and armored freighters, three armored transports that are just barely combat-capable in zero-g conditions, and twelve snub fighters, total. Ahsoka, please tell the others the potential turnaround time on getting Alliance assistance.”

“There will be at least a week’s turnaround on an encrypted message, unless we pushed it through faster, but that risks Imperial detection and decryption, and I can’t take the chance on risking Alliance installations as well as our own skins,” Ahsoka said. “If Druhl is as unstable as you believe, then we don’t have time to wait on High Command to make a decision.”

Ben nodded. “We’re going to have to make do with what we already have.”

“Two ships, a single squadron of fighters, and five Jedi. We’re positively swimming in resources.” Black rested his rifle against his shoulder and looked pleased.

“Wait, you weren’t actually being sarcastic?” Bridger asked.

Bret snorted. “Nah, kid. We started out with _nothing._ Not looking forward to taking out eleven SDs with that pathetic smidge of spacecraft, but we’ll manage.”

“Well, not eleven.” The glimmer of battle mania always seemed to bring more color to Ben’s eyes. “Six, if we do it right, and then only for a few minutes.”

Rex was shaking his head. “Ben, _no._ ”

Ben’s smile widened. “You shouldn’t assume the idea is insane until you hear me out.”

“It’s you,” Rex shot back. “Insane is a given.”

“What’s the plan, Boss?” Turkey asked, unconcerned with the odds, or potential insanity.

“Everything depends upon exceptionally precise timing.” Ben activated the holo emitter, which spat and then resolved into a side-by-side of the two remaining garrisons on Lothal: the Academy Garrison in Capital City, and Thule Garrison on the southern continent.

Mara frowned at Thule’s image, which showed an inhabited garrison. The Lothal had emptied the damned place at least twice since her arrival, and yet the image was dated only a week previous.

“Two teams will be needed to infiltrate both garrisons at the same time. Communications will also need to go down in both garrisons simultaneously—they’re monitoring everything too closely these days, and a gap of inactivity would be suspicious. Worse, the capital ships in orbit _cannot_ know that the garrisons are effectively off-line,” Ben said. “Viffax?”

 _“Chagganga ghullo,”_ Viffax greeted the group in Aqualish, then switched back to Basic. “I have a data worm meant for direct implantation into the Imperial Network. It was meant to be an easier way of monitoring Imp communications, but a simple adjustment of the programming created something better. Not only will the worm shut down all Imperial communications within the set parameters, it will convince all communication equipment that the system is still operational.”

Wolffe whistled. “I want one of those.”

Viffax made the grating noise that passed for his laugh. “It’s not a perfect solution. Personal commlinks will bounce back a privacy message, and the ground-to-SD link will be simulated, but that won’t fool people for long.”

“The first team that infiltrates the Academy Garrison also has to contend with disabling the ground cannons,” Ben said, regaining the group’s attention. “Between the cannons and the communications delay, that gives a second team a little less than ten minutes to access the garrison roofs, which is where they will find our primary method of dealing with the SDs.”

Kanan started to grin. “Oh, they didn’t.”

Ben enhanced the image for Thule Garrison and pointed to a structural mismatch that looked like a botched repair job. “On top of the Thule Garrison is a Planetary-Defense-Rated N54 Ion Cannon.”

Orrelios showed off a great deal of his teeth when he smiled. “Aw, they shouldn’t have.”

“Let me guess.” Wolffe’s smile revealed almost as many teeth as the Lasat. “There’s more where that one came from.”

Ben swapped over the holo to the Academy Garrison. “There are _four_ N54 cannons on the roof level, hidden by well-constructed blinds and shielding that’s meant to keep out prying electronic eyes. If it weren’t for Sergeant Travaill, we’d never have known the cannon placements existed.”

Travaill shrugged when some of the Lothal turned to look at him. “If N54s weren’t non-lethal, you’d never have known about them. No offense.”

“None taken,” Ben said. “I don’t actually want to kill several thousand Imperial non-com support staff if we can avoid it.”

“All right, then.” Rex’s eyes were darting along the fuzzy holo details of the Academy. “How do the teams break down?”

“Mara and I are the only members of the first team. She’s going into Thule to feed in Viffax’s data worm, and I’m doing the same for Academy,” Ben said.

Tano’s eyes had widened before she plastered a Jedi’s too-serene mask back on her face. Rex just seemed resigned to the inevitable. “Is there a reason you’re both going in solo?”

“No one can approach Academy without being nailed by the ground cannons, the same ones we need to disable,” Silver told him. “And it’s very hard to shoot at what you can’t see.”

“I still want someone to explain the disappearing thing,” Bridger grumbled under his breath.

“The second teams will have three groups within each team. The Thule Garrison will need two people for the ion cannon, a primary and a secondary, just in case; Academy gets eight people for the same task, same reason,” Ben explained. “The protective detail for those running the cannons needs to be at least three deep for every conceivable access point from the garrisons below. The largest group will be responsible for securing and policing the garrison itself. Make the Imperials focus on you; don’t let them catch wind of our true goal if you can help it. We need all of those cannons capable of firing, and just like everything else, those cannons all have to fire at once.”

“Which leads us to our other big problem.” Syndulla gave Ben a worried look. “Five ion cannons. Five blasts. Only five SDs shorted out.”

“Exactly,” Ben replied in sober acknowledgement. “The ion cannons have to recharge before a second volley, and that still leaves us with one SD remaining. If there isn’t a distraction in place, the garrisons could be fired upon by the remaining destroyers, and then we’re all pretty much fucked.”

Mara had to bite her lip against a smile when Jarrus and Tano both looked uneasy at the swearing. They were definitely used to Perfect Jedi Councilor Kenobi.

Silver frowned. “I’d like to avoid that, thanks.”

“You Alliance types know what the recharge rate on the new N54s is?” Bret asked.

“Two minutes with maximum available power,” Wren answered, supplying the answer before anyone else had a chance to open their mouths. “If the Garrison is still running off of all three power generators, then your two minutes is a given. If it’s less than that, your recharge rate can run up to seven minutes.”

“Seven minutes.” Ben rubbed at his forehead with one hand. “That is a wider envelope for Imperial retaliation than I’m comfortable with.”

“Can you distract six remaining SDs for up to seven minutes?” Grey asked Syndulla.

The Twi’lek clasped her left elbow with her right hand so she could rest her chin on her hand. “Not easily. The better idea would be to draw the Imps away from Lothal orbit. They can’t do pinpoint orbital strikes if they’re out of range.”

“That is what I’m hoping for,” Ben said, looking at the rebels. “Your initial flyby of the SD group is going to prompt them to lower their shields to release TIE fighters…”

“And if the flyby is timed so that it’s only seconds before the ion cannons fire, it will result in a much more effective ionization of each capital ship.” Tano finally began to smile in approval. “That won’t be a mere reboot of systems. That will take _hours_ to repair.”

“Say this works,” Wolffe said, “and we pull this off with minimal losses. What then? There are still going to be eleven fully-crewed SDs in-system. We just gonna blow them up while they’re dead in the water?”

“I would prefer not to, given that some of those SDs are going to comprise Lothal’s Defense Force,” Ben said. “Once they’re re-crewed, of course.”

Bret lifted his head from a survey of the Academy’s holo. “We don’t really have the kind of manpower required to crew an SD.”

Ben made a derisive sound. “You don’t need five thousand people. Those fucking things practically fly themselves. You can run an SD with a crew of fifty if you do it right.”

“That still leaves us with eleven ionized destroyers to deal with,” Kanan said. “If destroying the ships isn’t an option, then…”

“We board them,” Rex said, after glancing at Wolffe. “One at a time, if we have to.”

“And face hordes of angry Imperial officers and stormtroopers.” Hival’s antennae swiveled in a show of extreme displeasure. “No, thank you.”

“Not if we blow the corridor that leads to the bridge. Bulkheads come down immediately,” Wolffe said. “We hook in, re-pressurize the corridor, raise the bulkhead to the bridge…”

“Try not to get _shot_ immediately,” Rex put in.

“…And capture ourselves a bridge crew capable of surrendering an entire ship.” Wolffe smiled again with teeth showing, which made Mara wonder if his name had come first, or if he’d just adapted to the provided imagery. “Just one destroyer gives us a hell of a lot more firepower to convince the other SDs to stand down.”

“There is also the possibility that there was more than one Sith Adept,” Mara said.

Ben glanced at her. “Yes, but we won’t find them unless they reveal themselves. We’ll just have to wait and see…and kill them the moment they give us the opportunity.”

“Immediate death, huh?” Ezra asked. “I thought we were trying not to be all black-and-white about this.”

Ben glanced at Ezra, his expression intense. That was the Jedi Master, trying to make certain a lesson was properly instilled. “Aside from last night, have any of you ever dealt with a Sith Adept?”

Kanan and Ezra looked at each other, then at Tano. “No,” Tano admitted. “We tended to rate the Inquisitors. I didn’t even realize the Adepts existed.”

“The Inquisitors were loyal to the Empire,” Ben said. “The Sith Adepts were only loyal to the Emperor, and that makes them far more dangerous.”

“All right, I’m sold,” Bret said, before the conversation could devolve entirely into fruitless talk of the Adepts. “Grey?”

Grey nodded. “Beats waiting for Druhl to decide to exterminate us. Hival?”

Hival gave a slow nod. “It is no less insane than our other ventures. Silver?”

“I’ll contact the watchers in the city,” Silver said. “They’ll need to know to get everyone bunked down at—”

“Third hour. Fireworks should begin at five,” Ben supplied.

“Third hour,” Silver repeated. The gathered Lothal parted for her like water to allow Silver to leave the circle.

Tamassa tapped her fingers on the ridged edge of her data pad. “I’ll let our volunteers know that there might be wounded by dawn.”

Black and Turkey bumped their clenched fists against each other. “Prep begins at midnight?” Black asked.

“That sounds good.” Ben looked at Mara. “Any objections?”

Mara frowned, still not quite used to being asked her opinion about the Lothal operation. “Given our resources, I can’t see us doing anything differently.”

“All right, then.” Ben shut down the holoprojector and glanced around the room. “Secondary brief is in twelve hours. Get your gear ready. Sleep if you can manage it. I’ll see you all at midnight.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

His placement on the _Gorgon_ was exceptionally well-timed. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect his handler of arranging it that way on purpose.

“Fuck,” the sergeant at his left breathed. “You ever see anything like that?”

Naasade took in the appearance of the three Force users, newly arrived via an armored shuttle with extra-long lines. Two human males, one humanoid female; the female and one of the males were tall and thin, while the other was shorter and built like a fucking tank. They each had lightsabers, and they all radiated enough danger to choke a rancor.

Colonel Druhl greeted them as Sith Adepts, which made him frown. Just what they all needed—more damned Sith.

“Couple times,” he told the sergeant. “Long time ago, though.” He’d never forgotten the way the Sith Zabrak’s eyes had _burned_ , like hellfire had taken root in his eye sockets.

“Lucky you,” the sergeant whispered, and then belatedly scrabbled to attention as Colonel Druhl and the Adepts came close.

The woman looked the sergeant up and down, before blatantly dismissing him, turning her eyes on Naasade. The vileness of the woman’s stare was making his teeth ache.

“What’s your name, Commander?” she asked, after a cursory glance at the rank etched into his armor.

“Naasade, Lady,” he answered, and hoped he was choosing the right title.

She seemed pleased by that, so it must have been a good guess. “Naasade,” she repeated. “Is that someone’s idea of a joke?”

He smiled, safe beneath the confines of his bucket. “My brothers thought so, Lady. Bunch of assholes.”

“I find that siblings can often be callous.” The Adept motioned him forward. “Come with me, Commander Naasade. You and your squads will be joining me in the Academy Garrison for the evening.”

“Lady,” he tried to say in acceptance, but then Druhl opened his ugly mouth.

“Lady Tiritha,” Druhl began, and then quailed under the sharp gazes of Tiritha and the other Adepts. “My Lady, I only wish to inform you that Commander Naasade is a recent addition to the stormtrooper ranks, and has no familiarity with the Lothal situation on the ground—”

“Exactly, Colonel,” the other Adept said, earning a cool glance from Tiritha. “We would prefer those who do not yet have anything invested in Lothal’s population. After all, it might become necessary to…deal…with them. I do not want to see the possibility of your men balking at following orders. Some of them might be fond of the Lothal.”

“I see,” Druhl said. “You’re right, of course.”

Naasade rolled his eyes. Pushover.

“I wish to know where Commander Eross is,” Tiritha interjected. “He was one of those who seemed overly fond of the rats on the surface.”

Druhl’s shoulders went stiff. “Commander Eross has been executed for treason.”

Naasade couldn’t help it; he chuckled. “You’re going to lie to a Sith Adept? Fuck, I’ll be transferring out of this mess.”

“I do so like you,” Tiritha said to Naasade, smiling again. “I think we’ll keep you and your men for our own use.”

“I live to serve the Empire, Lady,” Naasade said, habit still making the lie sound like the gods’ own truth.

“Where is Eross?” the thin Adept asked. The tank-like Adept had yet to say a word.

Druhl audibly ground his teeth. “He escaped after a failed mutiny. He might be on Lothal, but we cannot confirm that.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Never lie to me again, Colonel,” the Adept said, waving one finger in the air. Druhl jerked and touched his throat. “Vader was not the only being capable of strangling the life out of those who disappointed him.”

“Where do you need us, Lady Tiritha?” Naasade asked, after Druhl beat a retreat that was too hasty to be dignified.

“I’d like to split your forces between the remaining garrisons,” she replied, after giving the thin Adept a gentle pat on the arm. “We’re here to retrieve something of value, and I don’t want it slipping through any of Druhl’s blundering cracks.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

When it came to awkward questions, it was Rex’s experience that the person you wanted to talk to would fucking well disappear the moment the questions needed to be asked. It was like a preternatural instinct, and Obi-Wan had always excelled at it.

The Jedi General he knew would have spent the time prepping for the upcoming campaign, but Rex couldn’t track him to any logical spots in the progression. The Warren was a damned dirt maze filled with curious people, both of which slowed him down.

At least the Lothal seemed capable of getting shit done with minimal fuss. There was a steady stream of soldiers going into and out of the armory, but never so many people that it was crowded. He didn’t see any civvies with gear that they shouldn’t be touching, or kids reaching with curious hands to prod at weapons strapped to waists and backs.

Come to think of it, it was two hours out from midnight, and Rex wasn’t seeing any kids at all. He turned in the direction of the civvie tunnels, curious as to how the Lothal were convincing several hundred kids to bunk down without a fuss on the eve of a battle.

Rex heard singing when he went into the tunnel that housed the civvie bunks. It was a male voice, pitched quiet, with snatches of whispers and the tuneless voices of kids joining in. Rex was saying the words under his breath before he realized what he was hearing, and recognition rocked him so hard he had to stop in place for a moment to just breathe.

 

_“Nu ibic pel’jorad_

_O’r ibic aay’han_

_Ke tengaanar gar’au’re_

_Gar chaab._

_Ke’duumir gar’au’re_

_Bah shukur gar_

_Ke’duumir gar’au’re_

_Bah duraanir_

_Gar o’trikar…”_

 

Obi-Wan was sitting with a bunch of the Lothal younglings, ranging in age from three to thirteen. The toddler who’d hitched a ride through the tunnels earlier was lying against Obi-Wan’s chest, eyes half-shut and lips parted. These were the orphans, the kids who were already too-aware of what they had to lose if things went badly in the morning.

He had to admit, he liked the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice. He just hadn’t known his General to sing. Ever.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him before turning his attention back to the kids. “Last verse,” he murmured, and then began the final section of the Orphan’s War Chant.

 _Dammit,_ Rex thought, and mouthed the words with him, breathing in proper time—chest rising with the first half of the verse and settling with the second, an intentional mimicking of calming breath. When it was done, the toddler was completely out, and most of the kids were heading off to bed.

Obi-Wan handed the sleeping toddler off to one of the oldest kids. Rex watched and tried to remember the last time he’d heard the Chant. From Sabine, maybe, but a lot of the old Mando’a songs made her sad and angry, which tended to result in a lot of property damage.

It must have been before the war even started. He would have been physically as young as these kids, learning the proper songs under the watchful eye of the _Cuy’val Dar._

“You were looking for me?” Obi-Wan asked, after he followed Rex out of the civvie tunnels.

“For a while, yeah,” Rex admitted. “Didn’t expect to find you in with the kids.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “My priorities are a bit more balanced than they used to be. The children are just as important as a soldier in this venture—they’re the ones who have to live with our successes, and our failures.”

Rex felt a chill climb up his spine. If they weren’t both thinking of the Temple slaughter in that moment, he’d eat his damned helmet. “I didn’t know you were one for singing, either,” he said, just to change the subject to something less horrific.

“Yes, well, we spent most of our quality time together after Rattatak,” Obi-Wan said.

Rex looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Did you ever actually talk to someone about that?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, there has been Rattatak therapy. Unfinished therapy, but at least I can talk about it.”

“What’s with Rattatak and singing, then?” Rex asked, but he suspected he already knew.

“I permanently damaged my vocal chords on Rattatak.” Obi-Wan ran his hands down his beard, somewhere between habit and nervous gesture. “Singing is a grand coping mechanism, but then it reminds you so much of what you were coping _with_ that you can’t stand the idea of singing a single fucking word afterwards.”

Rex hesitated before deciding to trust his instincts. He reached out and caught Obi-Wan’s hand, squeezing it but then leaving his grasp loose enough for an easy escape. “It’s better now, right?”

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened on Rex’s hand. “Some days more than others, but Force, there is such a long damned list of _other_ things to be insane about.”

He wasn’t going to get a better opening than that. “Like Vader.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I was thinking more in terms of the Emperor, but yes.”

“The rest of the Spectres were discussing possibilities, and—” _Fuck it,_ Rex thought, and plowed ahead. “Is Vader alive?”

Obi-Wan gave him a searching look. Rex had never realized how much the shifts between blue, gray, and stark green had helped him to figure out what the hell Obi-Wan was thinking. It was a lot harder with the color bleached from his eyes.

 _“Anakin_ is, yes.”

“Oh.” Rex glanced around for curious ears before giving quiet vent to combinations of words that he hadn’t indulged in for years.

“That was quite a recitation.” Obi-Wan guided them into a branch of the Warren with no people in it. The tunnel ended a few meters in, blocked by rubble. Only a single flickering light illuminated the space.

Rex appreciated the privacy, even if he knew it was more for the Lothal’s benefit than his. “Vader dropped a fucking building on my head a year after Sixty-Six,” he spat. “I’m not in the mood to repeat the experience.”

Obi-Wan leaned against the tunnel wall, arms crossed. “Who else in your cell had an encounter with Vader?”

“All of us,” Rex said, grinding his teeth so he wouldn’t pace up and down the short corridor. He didn’t give a damn about morale; he just wanted all of his people to live. “Me, Wolffe, Tano, and all of the Spectres.”

“And yet, you’re all still alive,” Obi-Wan said. “Vader must not have been trying very hard.”

Rex stared at him in utter disbelief. “Not trying very hard?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “If Vader had wanted any of you dead—truly wanted it—you would be.”

“And if you dying on the Death Star isn’t a load of shit, then he killed _you!_ ” Rex snarled.

Obi-Wan just looked at Rex with the wry, tired smile that Rex had first seen in the weeks after Rattatak. “Yes. He did.”

It felt like someone had shoved a lump of ice into his gut. “Because he _wanted_ to kill you,” Rex whispered. “Gods, why?”

“I tried to kill him, first.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Fair is fair.”

Rex stared at Obi-Wan. “You’re the reason that Vader was in that life-support suit.” Obi-Wan waved his hand in listless acknowledgement. “What did you do?”

“What do you know about Mustafar?”

“Young planet with lots of geological activity, lava flows used for direct mineral harvesting,” Rex answered. “Jarrus also says that it’s the place where Jedi go to die.”

Obi-Wan met his eyes. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“You thought that you were going to die there.” If they didn’t need to know, Rex would have dropped the subject right then. “Because Vader was on Mustafar, too.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He was. We fought, and I won. I didn’t even expect to, but Sidious had broken him to such a terrible extent, he just…he made a grave error.”

Rex winced. “Grave error” in lightsaber terms usually meant dismemberment, if not worse. “Then what?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted around the tunnel before he seemed to sigh. “I let him burn, Rex,” he whispered.

Lava. Burning.

Rex felt all the spit in his mouth dry up. No. Not those two. They’d loved each other—drove each other nuts, but they didn’t—they didn’t—

“Fucking hells, Kenobi!” Rex burst out, furious. “See what happens when you two idiots never learn to fucking communicate?”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tightened as his entire body went tense. “Yes, Rex. I am well aware of the fact that I’m partially responsible for a quarter-century of genocide and horror!”

Rex took an involuntary step back. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan’s arms went down at his sides, fists clenched. “What else do you do to the Sith who marches on the Temple? I was supposed to kill Vader on Mustafar, and _I didn’t_.” His eyes flashed, visible even in the dim tunnel lighting. “To this very fucking day, I sometimes can’t figure out if I hate myself for not making sure Vader was dead, or for going after Anakin in the first damned place!”

Rex realized he was holding his breath. Obi-Wan was now two paces out from the wall, jaw visibly clenched; Rex had backed up in reaction until his armored shoulders were just brushing rock.

Obi-Wan’s eyes weren’t Sith yellow, despite the belief of his panicked, hammering heartbeat. Not glowing Sith yellow, like the damned Inquisitors.

They were bright, blazing _gold_.

 _Gold is for vengeance,_ Rex thought, and he had to swallow down sudden nausea. “Obi-Wan, your eyes—”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in alarm before he covered them with his hand and turned away. “Fuck!”

Not quite the reaction Rex had expected, and it quelled a lot of his instinctive fright. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan muttered, but he didn’t drop his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, now I know why you were unsettled by the vengeance mark,” Rex said, trying for a casual tone and failing.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders jerked in a brief, silent laugh. “Yes, but not because of the symbol you chose.”

“Just the color’s meaning.” Rex frowned, trying to figure out how to navigate his way through a verbal minefield he’d managed to fall in by almost complete accident. “Is it…painful?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “What’s causing it?”

“I don’t know!” Rex was startled when Obi-Wan’s response was really close to a dismayed wail. “It’s been happening since Mortis.”

“And you don’t want anyone to know,” Rex realized. He’d had a near-panicked response to the color shift, and he damned well knew Obi-Wan wasn’t a Sith—and hadn’t felt like a Sith, either. Rex had been in close quarters with the bastards often enough to know the difference.

“No.” Obi-Wan finally uncovered his eyes. The odd color was fading, but they were still more gold than washed-out silver. “I don’t. For obvious reasons.”

Rex nodded in understanding. “I get it, but your eyes turning odd colors will be a lot easier for everyone to cope with than the news that Vader really is alive.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I didn’t say Vader, I said Anakin. There is quite a difference between the two.”

Rex shook his head bitterly. “No difference than what he fucking chose.”

Obi-Wan rested his hand on Rex’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Who says that he chose it?”

Rex felt his breath catch. “But you went after him. You went after Vader—”

“Because I didn’t know,” Obi-Wan said, all hints of gold gone from his eyes. “Not then. I didn’t know.”

Rex managed a brief nod. “Then…where is he?”

Obi-Wan looked frustrated. “Now that, I _also_ do not know, and at the moment, I don’t have time to theorize.”

Rex smiled. That sounded a hell of a lot more like General Kenobi than Ben of the Lothal. “We’ll figure it out later, then.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head. “We?”

“You’d have a hard time getting rid of me, much less Tano or the Spectres.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Rex was tempted to close the distance between them, but the angle was different than he was used to. He glanced down at Obi-Wan’s boots, and then back up at Obi-Wan’s face. “Are you fucking _taller?_ ”

Obi-Wan started to smile again. “One point eight three meters.”

“You ever plan on explaining why you’re two centimeters taller?” Rex asked.

“Eventually,” Obi-Wan said, and then kissed him before Rex could make up his mind if it was a bad idea or not. There was an immediate flare of heat in his gut, one that spread and intensified when Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and nipped at Rex’s lips.

Fuck, but it had been a very long time since he’d felt like this, let alone _reacted_ like this.

“Missed you,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Yeah, I gathered that.” Rex shifted in place and winced. “I’m wearing armor, you asshole. This is really uncomfortable.”

Obi-Wan let out a soft laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

Obi-Wan didn’t disagree with him. Bastard. “Gods, but if I didn’t have so much to do…”

War never did have very good timing. “I’m definitely not saying no,” Rex said. “Just—you sure your spouse wouldn’t have a problem with this?”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “I _hurt_ ,” he whispered, which wasn’t the kind of answer Rex had expected. “Here,” Obi-Wan touched his forehead, “and here,” he said, touching his chest, just over his heart. “Lifebonds were not meant to be stretched the way mine has, and there are consequences to that sort of damage. Circumstances being what they are, if he would begrudge me the chance at comfort, at the chance to not fucking _ache_ all the damned time, then Qui-Gon would not be half the man I know him to be.”

Rex shook his head, smiling. “You could have just said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Obi-Wan stared at him without a trace of amusement. “You deserve better. You _deserved_ better.”

That made him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t a problem with his armor. “I’m just a clone, Kenobi.”

“No. Not just a number, not just a face. Never to me,” Obi-Wan said, and kissed him again. “When this mess is over and done with tomorrow…I’d really like the opportunity to count any new scars you’ve picked up.”

Rex grinned. “Yeah, guess we can do that. You have any new ones there, General?”

“Several,” Obi-Wan replied dryly.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“She flies like a bloated brick if you don’t pay attention to the stick,” Obi-Wan was saying, while Ezra ran his hands along the _Figment’s_ control panel. “The controls will give you exactly what you want, though.”

“He only had to rebuild the shitty thing three times to make it happen,” Black said.

“It was worth the time,” Obi-Wan replied, and then keyed in an access code that lit up the dash terminal. There was a prompt waiting to be filled in, one attached to an entry designated [Co-Pilot]. “Pick whatever code you like, but once it’s in, don’t forget it. That gives you full access to all of the ship’s systems.”

“Got it,” Ezra said, using a variant of one of his favorite passkeys. Then he toggled the comm. “Hey, Zeb. How’s it going back there?”

“It’s a mess,” Zeb retorted. “What kind of bird did you say this was again, Kenobi?”

Black gave Obi-Wan an odd look; Obi-Wan shook his head and murmured, “Later.” Then he answered Zeb: “She’s a _Kazellis_ -class freighter, lightest of her breed.”

“If this is a _Kazellis,_ where the hell is the rest of her?” Zeb asked.

“That is a very good question, and it’s one I’m afraid to ask the previous owner. How’s the quad? I’ve never actually used it,” Obi-Wan said.

Zeb grunted a few times through the comm as he poked around the quad cannon placement. “Solid build, should shoot what I’m aiming at. Power generator’s good for it?”

“It should be, but we can double-check before you and Bridger take her up.” Obi-Wan nodded at Ezra. “I’ll leave you two to get more acquainted with this underweight heap.”

“Sure, thanks,” Ezra said. “Underweight is good.” Underweight meant that he could sling the ship around like it was a fighter, if Kenobi really had fixed the sticky controls.

“Still say it should be me piloting this bucket, anyway,” Zeb grumbled, once Obi-Wan and Black were off the ship.

Ezra smiled as he familiarized himself with the _Figment’s_ warm-up sequence. Take-off time was in just a few hours; might as well get the engines hot. “You’ve got more experience, but I’ve got twitchier reflexes, Zeb. If we’re going to be flying through a swarm of TIEs, I’d prefer twitchy.”

“Long as you don’t twitch us directly into a TIE, fine,” Zeb said.

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to shoot Imperials,” Ezra countered. “You either fly, or you get to shoot things, but it isn’t gonna be both today.”

“I remember when you were a snot-nosed kid who listened to his elders,” Zeb growled.

“Wow, your memory’s going already? You’re a bit young for that, aren’t you?” Ezra grinned when Zeb resorted to his own language to swear at him.

Zeb joined him in the cockpit a few minutes later. “Let me ask you something.”

“Sure.” Ezra patted the co-pilot’s seat. “All yours. Is the generator good?”

“That generator could power three quads, not just one. I don’t think it was ever downgraded when the ship lost at least one other cannon placement.” Zeb’s eyes tracked a moving shape in the cave, which turned out to be Master Obi-Wan.

“What do you think of our magically reincarnated Jedi Master?” Zeb asked.

“Honestly?” Ezra watched, curious, as Ahsoka exited the _Ghost II_ and followed Obi-Wan. “Ahsoka and Rex are convinced that he’s legit.”

“Not what I meant.” At the edge of the cave, closest to the illusion that hid the entrance, Obi-Wan stopped and pulled out a tabacc stick, lighting it without using any kind of flame. “Neat trick,” Zeb grunted. “Turn the external speakers on, will ya? I want to hear this.”

Ezra glanced at him. “Game over if the speaker is old enough to snap and announce itself,” he said, but turned it on.

Ahsoka was shaking her head. “Smoking. Really, Master?”

Obi-Wan shrugged and blew smoke from his nose in a long jet of air. “Between tabacc sticks or rampant alcoholism, tabacc is still considered the more socially acceptable option.”

“I don’t know about that.” Ahsoka waved a wisp of smoke away from her face. “Nobody else has to breathe the alcohol.”

“If you’re breathing the alcohol, chances are that you’re doing it wrong,” Obi-Wan replied. “What is it, Spy Girl?”

Zeb choked back a laugh as Ahsoka made a disgruntled face. “Please stop calling me that. It’ll give the others terrible ideas.”

Obi-Wan smiled, unrepentant. “Of course.”

“It’s just…and I actually hate to say it, but I have a really bad feeling about this battle,” Ahsoka said.

Ezra shared a look with Zeb. That was the first he’d heard of it—Zeb too, if the eye-roll was any indication.

Obi-Wan took a drag from the tabacc, strong enough that the smoldering tip flared bright red. “I do, too.”

Ahsoka smiled, back to serene and unruffled in less than five seconds. “I suppose it’s tradition.”

“Unfortunately.” Obi-Wan regarded the half-finished tabacc stick, sighed, and then ground it out beneath his boot. “Be careful tomorrow. All of you,” he added, glancing up at Zeb and Ezra.

Ezra gave a guilty flinch and waved. Zeb leaned forward and hid his face against the control panel.

“When we get back, I’d like to talk to you about…about Anakin.”

Zeb’s head came back up like the console had shoved him. Ezra stared down at Ahsoka. Rex hadn’t mentioned a confirm for their earlier theory!

“And not Vader?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Oh, maybe a bit of that, too, things being what they are,” Ahsoka told him. “But I’d like to hear about my Master.”

Obi-Wan smiled back at her. “I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Mara and the teams for Thule slipped out an hour before the others, as they had more ground to cover. Academy was much closer to the warren, and more easily accessible—if you discounted the ground cannons.

 _I’m on mark,_ Mara sent to Ben, when they were across the channel separating the northern continent from the southern. _Two kliks out from Thule._ The Lothal were muttering curses under their breaths about the smell of salt-marinated sewage.

_Good. So are we. Comm check via tapping before you head inside._

_I’m still angry at you,_ she added.

 _When you come home alive, you can yell at me all you like,_ Ben shot back, and then his attention was most assuredly directed elsewhere.

Mara sighed and dismounted her bike. “What the hell did he say to you?” she demanded.

Rex was leaning against the bike he’d shared with Ki Geffes. “That if things go to shit, we get you out.”

Mara ground her teeth. That wasn’t nearly as interfering as she’d feared, but it still rankled. “You’re not following me in, are you?”

“No,” Wolffe confirmed, after passing Turkey her favorite rifle. “I’m going in with the second team as cover, and Rex is going to clean house with the third.”

Mara looked around at the Lothal. “Turkey’s lead for this. Why isn’t _she_ the priority?”

Hival gave her a look of deep reproach. “The Lothal can take losses from this raid, and still we will survive. You, Jade, are one of five existing Jedi left in this galaxy.”

“Six, if that Skywalker kid is legit,” Turkey said.

Hival nodded. “Six, then. We cannot afford to lose any Jedi, for to do so risks true extinction of _your_ people.”

Mara glared at them. “I’m not a Jedi!” she hissed.

Rex slung his rifle over one shoulder. The twin pistols riding low at his hips were fresh from the Lothal armory. “No, you’re not one of the _old_ Jedi. To be a Jedi now is a hell of a lot different than it used to be. Come on, I’ll help you hide the bikes,” he said to Turkey, who nodded and followed after Rex as they pushed two more of the bikes into the brush.

Ben hadn’t mentioned any of that, which was not typical of him. Sometimes he was more forthcoming than Mara was comfortable with. “How so?” she asked, fighting for a neutral tone and not quite managing it.

“Mayhem wasn’t the norm for the old Jedi,” Wolffe said. “Not for most of them, anyway. A few, like my General—they could adjust, and be damned fine commanding officers. A few more, like Tachi, Skywalker, and Kenobi, were used to mayhem from the start. The war wasn’t much different from the shit they got into during peacetime. The others…”

“They weren’t built for war,” Rex said as he came back into sight. “Hell, they were barely built for fighting. A lot of the war’s casualty rates were from Jedi who just couldn’t handle the violence. Couldn’t adjust. They either died in battle, snapped and lost their shit, or quietly curled up in a hole and suicided.”

Mara took her own turn to put her bike into hiding underneath the dead brambles that prefaced the beach dunes, trying not to frown. That explained a lot about Ben’s silence on the subject.

When she got back to the group, Turkey was whistling something soft and mournful. The tune was unfamiliar, and yet still made her skin crawl.

“Our Jedi we’ve got now, the ones who’ve survived—they’re either built for mayhem, or they knew how to flex and learn it.” Wolffe gave Mara an appraising look. “Pretty sure you’re both.”

“What about the _other_ Jedi attributes?” Mara asked in a snide voice. Dammit, she’d told Ben she didn’t want to be a Jedi, and everyone was calling her that anyway.

“Well, I can’t speak for your Master.” Wolffe ignored her twitch at Ben’s title. “But there’s going to come a day when you might be the only calm part of a whirlwind. People need that, sometimes.”

“You said you were Coruscant-raised.” Rex put his helmet on, which changed the pitch of his voice as the vocoder’s speaker kicked in. “Reckon you saw the Imperial’s dogma about Jedi up close and personal. Cold bastards who cared for nothing and no one, right?”

Mara smiled faintly. “Yes.” That was very close to her original observation, even if she was gradually coming to realize that Ben Tanno’baijii, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was not as atypical as she wanted to believe.

“Some of them were like that,” Wolffe said, once his helmet was settled into place. His voice was tinny, but still recognizable. “There are assholes in every group.”

Rex slapped the side of Wolffe’s helmet. “You’ve got to get that shit fixed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wolffe groused, but to Rex’s credit, the speaker was no longer tinny.

“Now that you’re all done with philosophy, we’re thirty seconds out from second mark.” Hival tossed an extra power pack at Mara. “Just in case.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Mara said, but she slipped it into a pocket.

Just in case.

The two klik run to the garrison was not something that would have winded her, even in the old days, but Mara had to admit that six months of proper training had done wonders for her stamina.

Mara’s timing was excellent; the sentries were at opposite ends of the western wall, facing away from each other. She closed her eyes, carefully constructing the Force shielding that made her invisible to sight and scans. She hadn’t quite mastered the lack of sound, but that was a lesser concern at the moment. She’d trained for working in silence, long years before Lothal.

She ran forward again, straight to the northern face of the garrison. She ran up the wall, letting her momentum carry her a third of the way before her fingers caught at the ridged edge that circled the building at mid-level. Then she braced her feet, gathered the Force, and leapt up to grasp the edge of the rooftop.

“Did you hear anything?” one of the troopers below her asked. Mara tucked in close to the building and waited.

“It’s just one of those damned cats,” the other trooper replied.

Rooftops were much easier to navigate when she only had to worry about heat sensors, and Thule hadn’t even bothered with those. Mara knelt at the closest rooftop hatch, shaking her head at sloppy security. She had it open in less than thirty seconds via manual override—the access panel hadn’t even been properly sealed.

Mara tapped the comm at her ear the requisite number of times and waited for a response. She didn’t get one.

Mara narrowed her eyes and tapped again. She got a confirm from her own team, but not the proper response from Ben.

_Ben?_

_Ben!_

Mara didn’t receive words, but at least there was a harried flicker of acknowledgement. Not good enough; she was about to miss the third mark. If he was going to flub this, he was going to give her an actual reason.

She took a deep, calming breath, and then made her ire known.

_OBI-WAN KENOBI, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_

 

*          *          *          *

 

Everything had gone according to plan, which should have been his first warning.

Obi-Wan left Grey and Bret, along with their teams, at the first mark. Black had already taken his snipers into the city, fanning out to provide covering fire for soldiers and civilians alike. At second mark, Obi-Wan was slipping into the garrison when the doors opened for the exterior guards’ shift change.

If Academy had heat sensors, then they were either offline or being overridden by the on-duty technicians. Obi-Wan counted soldiers as he made his way down to the station that controlled the first ground cannon. If the hallway clusters were any indication, garrison personnel strength had jumped by several companies’ worth of stormtroopers. Druhl was either on-site or inbound for a visit…or Obi-Wan had vastly underestimated how many lives Druhl would sacrifice just to end the Lothal Rebellion.

Obi-Wan was also trying to pretend that this venture was not reminding him of his scouting of the first Death Star. Imperial military construction didn’t vary much from base to ship to battle station, which wasn’t helping his growing sense of déjà vu.

 _You’re being followed_ , he thought, after he’d disabled the second ground cannon. That made him look over his shoulder, but there was no one in the corridor.

Paranoia. Still.

Obi-Wan doubled back to the first cannon, which was still offline. He debated for a moment before placing his hand over the access panel. A burst of Force energy into the circuitry and wiring, followed by the distinct scent of burnt hardware, ensured that no one would be reactivating the cannon within the next few hours.

He did the same to the second, and then the third. The fourth was already offline, for what looked like routine maintenance. He burned through all of its wiring anyway, waving away tell-tale smoke—not that there was anyone around to witness it, and the security cameras were probably not that sensitive.

No one around to witness it.

 _Fuckdammit_.

His comm clicked with Mara’s pattern, but he ignored it as he allowed his senses to flow along the threads of the Force surrounding him. If there was a way to discern those who hid within the Force, this was likely the way to do it. He just hadn’t yet figured out _how._

_Ben?_

It was instinct that saved him. His sense of danger flared a warning; he stepped to one side and avoided the lightsaber that appeared in midair, slicing downwards.

_Ben!_

Obi-Wan acknowledged his Padawan as he took in the appearance of his revealed enemy. Human, male, and dark-skinned, he bore a lightsaber in his right hand and a vibroblade in his left. The man’s eyes were glowing with amber fire, outlined in blood.

Sith Adept.

Obi-Wan raised his right hand to deflect he vibroblade as the Adept followed through with his attack. The Adept twisted the knife at the last moment; instead of a glancing blow, the vibroblade went through Obi-Wan’s palm and emerged from the back of his hand.

Obi-Wan almost bit through his tongue as he forced back a howl of pain. Fucking hells, that _hurt_.

_OBI-WAN KENOBI, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_

The Adept let out an unintelligible shout as they were both struck by the mental equivalent of a falling mountain. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, ignored nauseating pain from wounded hand and throbbing head, and tore the distracted Adept’s lightsaber from his grasp with the Force. A second telekinetic wave crushed part of the hilt, destroying the crystals within.

Obi-Wan took a brief moment to look at his hand, which burned even as it felt shock-cold. The vibroblade had deactivated the moment the Adept released the hilt; blood was starting to drip down the handle and onto the floor. If Obi-Wan pulled the blade but didn’t heal the wound immediately, he would be dealing with severe nerve damage. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but it definitely hampered his ability to defend himself.

The Adept snorted at the loss of both weapons before pulling out and activating another vibroblade. He made a come-hither motion with his free hand, a clear invitation to engage.

Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling in response. He hadn’t been that foolish since his Initiate days, and those were long behind him. He tucked his bleeding hand in against his chest, wincing when the knife caught fabric and jarred the wound.

Mara was still clamoring for his attention. _Dammit, Ben!_

 _I’m dealing with another Adept, Mara_.

 _We’re at one minute and thirty seconds until the mark for worm insertion_ , she warned him. _Can you make it?_

 _I’ll make it._ Obi-Wan took several steps backwards, each one mirrored by the Adept. The closest terminal was a floor above him. The turbolifts were at the far end of the corridor, blocked by the Adept, but there was an emergency stairwell about ten meters behind him.

The Adept was also shielding against further telekinetic attack. Dammit, he should have ignored the lightsaber and just crushed both it and the Adept into the wall. It would have saved him time and aggravation.

“What’s your name, then?”

The Adept grunted and swung at him with the vibroblade. “I’ve seen, heard, and done a lot, but I’m pretty sure that grunt was not a name,” Obi-Wan said. “Did someone remove your tongue?”

The Adept grinned at Obi-Wan, revealing yellowed teeth. Then he opened his mouth. There was a blackened stump where his tongue used to reside.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan grimaced at the display. “Thanks for answering the question,” he said, and bolted for the stairs with Force-enhanced speed.

It was not reassuring when the Adept didn’t follow.

He was down to thirty seconds when he found the wall terminal, in use by an officer who looked seventeen different shades of bored out of his mind. “Sorry,” Obi-Wan muttered, slamming the unfortunate man face first into the terminal screen before letting him drop to the ground, unconscious. The officer would live, but his nose would probably never be the same.

The data chip with the worm went in with twenty seconds to spare. Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief, resting his head against the cool metal wall, finger hovering over the execute button. At fourth mark, he pressed the key and sent the comm confirm out to all teams. Except for a single line that read [Command Executed] there was no visible change in the system at all—which was exactly what they wanted.

 _Good job, Viffax_ , he thought, and studied the bloodied mess of his hand again. Jedi healing would be more pleasant, but it was slow, meant to cause a patient minimal discomfort. Sith healing was brutal because it was fast, meant to make sure the recipient didn’t die in the middle of a battle.

The healing Obi-Wan had performed on Micah Giett on Yinchorr would be kinder, too, but he had yet to figure out how in the hell he’d done that in the first place.

 _Battle it is, then._ Obi-Wan grasped the handle of the vibroblade after taking care to make sure the power wouldn’t activate and create even more of a problem. He closed his eyes, drew in several sharp breaths, and pulled the blade free.

Pain was as sharp-edged as the knife, making his stomach churn as dark spots fought to blot out his sight. He slapped his hand over the wound, using the second burst of pain to clear his head. Then, for the first time since Mortis, he used Darkness to heal himself.

Bones knit, tendons rewove themselves, veins and capillaries and nerves restructured—all of it in seconds. Obi-Wan shrieked and almost blacked out for a second time.

Force, gods, and all the Sith hells, he’d actually managed to forget how much that fucking hurt.

Obi-Wan had also forgotten how draining it could be. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again he was lying on the floor, staring at a cluster of white-armored shins.

Dammit, he hadn’t lost that much blood. Running a rebellion must have drained his reserves more than he’d thought.

“Is he dead?” one of the stormtroopers asked, right before a stun blast lit the hallway. The first stormtrooper went down, followed quickly by the rest of his squad.

 _“Are_ you dead?” Grey asked.

“Not today,” Obi-Wan replied, letting her pull him to his feet. His head swam the moment he was upright, and he thumped back to rest against the wall before he could fall down again.

“You don’t look so good, sir,” Jones said, getting nods of agreement from most of the infiltration team. “We followed an actual blood trail all the way to you.”

Wren pulled off her helmet to stare at him in concern. “Wow. You’re gray in the face. I’ve never actually seen anyone turn that color in real life.”

“Bad pun,” Obi-Wan muttered, and looked in the direction he’d come from.

All right, maybe he’d lost more blood than he’d thought. That was a really obvious trail.

“No, she’s not making puns. You’re staying put,” Grey ordered. “We’ll get the gunners to the ion cannons.”

“I can stay with him,” Travaill offered. “Jones is a better shot than I am, anyway.”

“Works for me. Let’s move,” Grey said. She took off at a run, leading the way towards the turbolifts and the roof, before Obi-Wan could protest that he did not actually need a babysitter.

“Where were you hit, anyway?” Travaill asked, toeing at the vibroblade on the floor.

“Hand,” Obi-Wan said, flexing his fingers. His joints were stiff, but he didn’t feel any residual tingling that would signify nerve damage. “I’ve already healed it.” He scrubbed his hand on his trouser leg, trying to get the blood off. He got dry but not clean; red had already stained his skin.

Travaill let out an impressed whistle. “Jedi healing can do that?”

Obi-Wan nodded. Technically, yes.

He had his lightsaber in his hand, blade ignited, before he quite realized why.

“Shit,” Travaill muttered, flicking the safety off on his blaster rifle. “Are those the Adepts?”

“Unfortunately,” Obi-Wan said, watching the pair of black-clad Adepts approach. They were following the trail of blood with interested, amused expressions that left him chilled. “Get behind me.” Travaill muttered a curse under his breath and obeyed.

The first tongueless Adept had been joined by a woman, humanoid instead of full human, with a pink cast to her skin that spoke of a mixed Zeltron heritage. Her eyes glowed with Dark corruption, but blood red was dominant instead of the more typical yellow amber.

Obi-Wan resigned himself to a continuation of this gods-awful morning. “Do _you_ have a name, or are you also missing a tongue?”

She smiled in what looked to be genuine pleasure. “I am Tiritha. This is Takann.”

“You’ve named yourselves after the spirits who are supposed to escort dead Sith into the Void.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “How charming. You’re missing Tamoeth from your little collective, though.”

Tiritha’s smile widened. “It really is him,” she said to her companion, who grunted in response. “Our brother will be delighted.”

“How many of you are there, anyway?” Obi-Wan asked, disconcerted. Sidious had either gotten a lot freer with information in his later years as Emperor, or the Adepts had propagated on their own.

“You’ll find out,” she said. _“Maget’tra.”_

Obi-Wan sensed a sudden, jarring shift in awareness, and then the overpowering blue of a stun blast filled his vision.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Hival, Wolffe, Corporal Fjori, and their Lothal guard arrived within moments of Mara choking out an Imperial officer. The unfortunate man had the bad luck of coming into the room Mara had chosen for her terminal upload of the communications worm.

“Didn’t hear a sound,” Wolffe said, glancing down at the unconscious officer. “Good job.”

Mara was temporarily distracted by the praise, still a novelty even after months with Ben. “The worm is uploaded in both locations, so you’d best go now. Grey thinks she can get to the Academy’s roof before you do.”

Hival shook his head. “Entirely unlikely,” he muttered, but the group went on towards the roof via the garrison stairwells, which were rarely used.

Mara stepped out into the corridor and stunned an Imperial trooper who must have heard the group run by. “Curiosity means you take a nap,” she murmured, taking his weapons and tossing them down the nearest garbage chute.

Her comm clicked with Rex’s pattern, letting her know that the third group was inside and about to commit mayhem. Mara smiled and ran to join them.

She ducked under Turkey’s steady stream of fire, sliding in behind cover next to Rex and Corporal Gein, one of Travaill’s men. “Who woke up the barracks?”

“Geffes got their attention before he went to go set up on the roof,” Turkey said. Mara nodded; the young sniper would be providing covering fire if Thule managed to get any fliers off the ground.

“And with the barracks making all this racket, everyone else is going to come here,” Rex said.

“At least until they notice the power draw,” Mara pointed out. “We’ve got two minutes until the next mark drops five SDs.”

“Yeah, details.” Rex held up his hand and gestured, catching the attention of the other Lothal lining the hallway. “Trade off!”

Mara, Rex, Gein, and Jax left Turkey and the Lothal to keep the men in the garrison barracks occupied. “Command center’s this way,” Gein said, pointing down the third corridor. “We can take the next corridor, though, and skip around to the other side. That would put us between command and their closest rooftop access.”

“Excellent,” Jax said, as she and Mara took point. “That makes this a hell of a lot easier, Gein.”

“Thanks,” the man said. Mara would put credits on the fact that the man was blushing.

The end of the indicated corridor was dark, in more ways than one. Mara grabbed Jax’s arm before she could go any closer. “Adept,” she hissed under her breath. Rex swore; Gein made a noise that sounded like a quiet _gleep_ of dismay.

The Adept appeared before them with no prompting needed, revealing a thin, human man with eyes that glowed with yellow fire. The Emperor had always kept his gaze more subtle, feeling no need to frighten officers and sycophants with glowing eyes when his very presence did the job so well.

Mara pulled her lightsaber and ignited the blade, reassured by the way the familiar violet light pushed back the creeping dark. “Get out of our way.”

“No, I won’t be doing that.” The Adept was smiling. “I was not sure which of us was going to find you, but I’m delighted that it was me.”

“Me?” Mara asked, at the same time Rex said, “Her?”

“Yes,” the Adept said. _“Maget’tra.”_

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rex missed the first shot, and could only thank the Force and every single god in existence that Gein’s rifle was still set for stun. Jade gasped as her body was enveloped in a blue corona that dropped her like a stone.

Gein was already turning his weapon on Jax when Rex bashed him in the face with the butt of his rifle. The soldier moaned and went down, bleeding from the mouth but definitely out of the game.

“What the _hell_?” Jax yelled, furious and half-terrified.

“Just shoot the fuck!” Rex told her, dropping his damaged rifle and drawing both pistols. Jax was seasoned enough that she did as ordered. Both of them sent a barrage of shots down the corridor, most of them on target for the Adept.

The bastard pulled a lightsaber and deflected each laser bolt, but not at them. _Doesn’t want to hit Jade,_ Rex realized. He bared his teeth at the Sith Adept and upped the power draw from the packs feeding each blaster. The charge wouldn’t last as long, but if he got a hit on the man, it’d be a hell of a lot more effective.

“I do so enjoy playing with fools,” the Adept said, and then made a strange sound. Jax coughed and choked on vomit as the blade of a knife emerged, point first, from the Adept’s throat.

The man opened and closed his mouth, emitting nothing more than a gurgling rasp. Rex shook his head and fired one more time, nailing the Adept center mass with a high-powered shot that turned the man’s chest into a smoking ruin.

The Adept dropped, revealing Wolffe standing behind him. “Yeah, I like fools, too,” Rex’s brother said. “They’re too stupid to know how to properly watch their backs.”

“Thanks, Wolffe.” Rex lowered his blasters as his hands started to shake. “Fuck.”

Jax turned away from the Adept, still looking kind of green, and knelt next to Jade. “She’s all right. Close proximity burst, so she’ll be out for a while, but I don’t think it’s any worse than unconsciousness.”

“What the hell happened, Rex?” Wolffe asked, stepping around the dead Adept.

Rex glanced over at Gein, who’d lost consciousness. “He was a sleeper, Wolffe. I don’t even think the poor kid knew it.”

Wolffe yanked his helmet, his eyes wide enough to show the metallic edges of his bionic replacement. “Fuck, Rex. You know exactly what that sounds like.”

Rex pulled his own helm and stared back. “Fucking Sixty-Six,” he whispered.

“Not here, not now, and not again in this fucking galaxy,” Wolffe snarled. “I’m not going to see the Jedi that are left go down from indoctrinated damned stormtroopers!”

Stormtroopers. “Shit, Wolffe. Travaill’s squad was split in half. Three of them are at Academy with Kenobi!”

Wolffe let out a deep growl of frustration. “We can’t jump ship. The plan still has to happen, or these people are fucked.”

“Yeah.” Rex ran a hand over his face. “Take Jax and go make certain the cannons are covered. I’ll stay with Jade, and try to get ahold of the Academy teams in the meantime.”

“Got it. Dammit, there just aren’t enough of us to go around,” Wolffe muttered, before he turned around and went back in the direction he’d come from. Jax gave Rex an apologetic look before hurrying after him.

Rex popped the packs on his blasters and shoved new ones into place. “Ten minutes, Jade,” he told her, hoping she’d listen. They couldn’t afford to be out of the fight longer than that.

 _Fucking hells, Obi-Wan,_ he thought as he switched to the comm channel for the teams at Academy. _You’d better not be in trouble._

 

*          *          *          *

 

Ahsoka tapped her comm to open the channel. “I’m set up in the second quad, Hera.”

“Good. Boards are green on this end. Light it up,” Hera ordered.

She sent up a quick prayer and powered up the quad guns. Except for a displeased whine at the beginning, they cycled up to full power exactly as they should have. “They fixed it, Hera.”

“Wonders will never cease,” Hera returned dryly. “Kanan?”

“Zeb is in so much trouble for the murderous thing he’s done to the other quad’s chair,” Kanan complained. “Power’s up, though, no whine, and she’s moving good.”

“Excellent. Chopper?”

Ahsoka smiled as she listened to the irritable droid warble binary obscenities. That usually meant yes.

“Good to hear,” Hera said. _“Figment_ , how are you doing over there?”

Ahsoka turned the chair so she could get an easier view of the _Kazellis_ freighter. The ship flew well, given Obi-Wan’s less than optimistic description of its abilities.

“Ship’s not one hundred percent, but she’s close enough that it won’t matter. Shields are good and the armor’s damned solid,” Ezra reported. “Zeb?”

“This quad is going to kick like a drunken Bantha.” Zeb sounded gleeful. “I might have finally found a new favorite gun.”

“Surprised the Imps didn’t come after us, heading offworld like this,” Ezra said. “I mean, this is a nice moon and all, but it’s not that great a hiding place.”

“The Imps don’t have to do a damned thing. They don’t believe we could possibly be a threat, so they’re waiting for us to either run, or destroy ourselves trying to take on eleven SDs by ourselves. Either way, problem solved.” Kanan chuckled. “Sound reasoning, but it won’t do them any good today.”

The first fighter dropping out of hyperspace caught Ahsoka’s eye, and then it was lost to her sight as Hera turned the ship about. “Commander,” Hera greeted the first ship. “Nice flight?”

“Decent enough, Captain,” Webb replied. “All of my ships: Report in, and give me your status at the same time.”

“Blue Two, standing by, all systems green,” Lieutenant Ooros said.

“Blue Four, standing by. My hydraulics are reading red across the board, but it’s gotta be a glitch because I’ve still got full control.”

“Roger that,” Webb said. “Monitor that, Four. If the controls start to feel stiff, back the hell out of the fight and hyperspace out.”

“Got it.” Blue Four didn’t sound happy about it, but he’d flown with them long enough to know that making himself a liability wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Blue Seven, standing by, boards are green.”

“Blue Nine standing by, boards are all green but life support, and I’ve already swapped over to seals and a breathing tank. You’ve got me for two hours before I have to bug out for Kamino, or four hours if it looks safe enough to bug out on Lothal.”

“Acknowledged, Nine,” Webb said, muttering some choice words under his breath. “Some days it feels like we’re holding these Y-wings together with spit, wire, and blind luck.”

“Spit and wire gets my vote,” Zeb said.

“Blue Six reporting in,” Ellie cut in. “Standing by with green boards.”

The rest of the squadron reported in without any glitches or difficulties. “That’s it, then. Rundown the plan, Captain,” Webb asked Hera.

The fighters came back into Ahsoka’s view as they drew even with the _Ghost II._ “We’re running on timed marks,” Hera said, as Ezra flipped the _Figment_ up and over, settling in beside the cluster of Y-wings _._ The two freighters would keep the fighters boxed and protected until the dogfighting began. “I’ll key you in on the frequency, but here’s the breakdown. First and second mark, we ignore. Third mark, we burn at full sublight back to Lothal. Fourth mark is going to hit while we’re halfway there, and that mark is what is shutting down the Empire’s ability to communicate with their people on the ground, giving the infiltration teams for the garrisons time to work.”

“There must be something awfully shiny waiting in the wings, Captain,” Webb said, “because so far, all I hear is that we’re suiciding against eleven SDs.”

“We’re going to do a flyby of the SDs at the fifth mark, which will encourage them to launch TIE fighters. The moment that happens, our people on the ground will be nailing five of those SDs with ground-based ion cannons.”

“Oh, that’s balls-up awesome,” Blue Seven cackled.

“We keep the other SDs engaged until the cannons recharge, and then we’re down to only dealing with one SD. Nice,” Webb said in approval. “All right—you lot heard the Captain. This isn’t about smashing yourselves against the side of a destroyer. We’re a distraction, and you can’t distract anyone if you’re dead. Keep it light, stick with your wingman, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Uh, sir? We _are_ flying against eleven SDs—” Blue Eleven tried to say.

“Eleven, shut the hell up and get on the stick.”

Ahsoka rested her hands on the firing controls, listening as first and second marks were tapped in. She still felt a nervous flutter in her stomach whenever a battle was about to commence, one that had never been quelled despite her years of fighting.

 _There is going to be significant loss of life among the space battle groups, no matter what the Lothal would prefer,_ Ahsoka had told Obi-Wan, before the teams had separated at second hour after midnight.

 _I know. We’re already aware that the kill-count for topside isn’t going to be good._ Obi-Wan had seemed so tired in that moment, and it concerned her. _Space has too many variables. Keep yourself and everyone else alive, Ahsoka. We’ll be happy with that._

“Fourth mark!” Hera called out, just as Ahsoka heard the tap-and-confirm. “Get ready!”

“Form up on me, Delta pattern,” Webb ordered. “We’ll break with a wide spread on the fifth mark.”

“May the Force be with us,” Ahsoka said quietly, a benediction that was repeated by Kanan, Ezra, Hera, and half of the pilots in Blue Squadron.

They flew right through the central grouping of destroyers, which were still gathered in a lame attempt to continue the Lothal blockade. The captains of each destroyer performed the predictable Imperial response of opening hangar bays for TIE fighter release.

Zeb shouted in absolute joy as he nailed the first TIE to come within range, giving the first kill to him. Then more TIEs were boiling out of their holds like angry, oddly-shaped ants.

“Fifth mark!” Hera shouted, and the first ion blast shot up from the planet’s surface to nail the largest SD, the _Gorgon_. Four more blasts were right behind it, each of them tagging a destroyer that still had bay doors open and shields at minimum.

“First batch is down!” Ezra called out. “Keep to the scrambled SDs and use them for cover!”

“With pleasure,” Hera said, pouring on speed and leading their growing tail of TIEs right for the _Gorgon’s_ still-sparking hull. Ahsoka blasted the first three to come in range of her port cannons.

“Whoa, _shit!”_ Blue Seven yelled, and then his comm turned to static.

“Son of a bitch. The active SDs are firing at us, people!” Webb informed them.

“They’ve already hit one of their own ships,” Hera said. “Guess we’ll be staying on the far side of the destroyers!”

“The active destroyers are already on the move.” Blue Six popped into Ahsoka’s line of sight long enough for Ahsoka to destroy the TIE fighters right behind her. “We’ve got maybe three minutes of safety before we’re going to be in the middle of a rout!”

“How long is the recharge rate on the ion cannons?” Webb asked.

“Two to seven minutes,” Kanan supplied.

“I don’t like those odds, Jarrus!”

“We have to make this work, Blue Leader,” Kanan retorted. “We either succeed, or the Lothal die.”

“Who cares?” Blue Eleven blurted out. “I know that sounds like a shitty move, but we’re, y’know, useful? What have the Lothal ever done for the Alliance?”

“Eleven, if I catch you saying anything that stupid ever again, I’m feeding you to Orrelios,” Hera promised.

“Hey! I was on a diet, Hera!” Zeb whined. “Stupid pilots are fattening!”

“Two minute mark!” Kanan shouted to be heard over the roar of a ship in full battle mode. “If we’re going to see another ion blast, it’ll be within the next five minutes!”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Sabine winced as blaster fire chipped the wall next to her. “Say again, Rex? I can’t hear a damned thing in this mess!”

“We—g—sl—ts—ren!”

Sabine rolled her eyes. “Would you blasted Imps stop shooting long enough for me to hear this comm?”

Bret grinned at her. “One more burst of noise and I can get you a few seconds of quiet, Kid.”

“Do it,” Wren said, and tapped a holding pattern into the comm for Rex.

Bret uncapped an unfamiliar device, definitely some form of detonator, and tossed it straight down the hallway at the Imps.   “Get down!” he yelled.

Sabine pulled her helmet tight down over her head to protect her hearing, and then wrapped her arms around her body for extra protection. There was a short flare of what sounded like fire, and then a resounding, echoing _boom_ that made the floor rattle and her teeth vibrate.

“Whoa,” she breathed, turning to stare at Bret. The old man looked far too pleased with himself. “What was that?”

“Two-stage detonators. Usually used for mining, but Ben got me a crate of them, and I’ve been applying them judiciously ever since.” Bret peered around the corner. “Oh, nice. You finish that comm call before any new squads come along.”

Sabine nodded. “Okay, Rex, what were you shouting about?”

“We’ve got fucking sleeper agents, Wren,” Rex said. He sounded angry and a little bit afraid, which set off all of Sabine’s alarm bells. Rex and Wolffe weren’t afraid of anything, not after surviving the Clone Wars _and_ Vader.

“Sleepers,” she said to Bret, who blanched. “You mean like Sixty-Six?” Sabine gasped in realization.

“Similar enough,” Rex replied. “Jade’s down from a stun blast, but she’ll be all right. Dunno about the Corporal yet, but the Adept activated him with a single word, and nobody had a damned chance to do anything to stop him. Where’s Kenobi?”

Sabine felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. “We left him with Sergeant Travaill!”

Rex turned the air blue and vile with Mando’a and Huttese cursing. “Find him, Wren. And watch out for those fucking Adepts!”

“Got it. I’ll find him,” Sabine assured him, and then looked at Bret. “I’ve got to—”

“I’m going with you,” Bret said, giving the Lothal next to him another one of the two-stage detonators. “You don’t ever go after a Sith on your lonesome. It was like an unwritten rule of the old war.”

They had to take a blacked-out turbolift shaft down to the floor they’d left Kenobi on. Sabine slid down the rungs of the emergency ladder and then pried the doors open while Bret caught up. Sabine wrinkled her nose. Even through her helmet seals, she could smell a lot of blood.

“Oh, gods,” Bret muttered, and took off down the corridor. Sabine frowned and followed him.

Bret almost slid and fell in the pool of blood spreading out from Sergeant Travaill’s body. “Sergeant? Sergeant!”

Sabine grimaced at the sight of the two vibroblades embedded in Travaill’s chest, one on each side. She wasn’t sure how the poor man was still breathing. She glanced up and looked around. Kenobi’s drying blood trail was still where they’d all last seen it, but Kenobi was not.

“Sergeant! Dammit, Kevan, wake up!” Bret yelled.

Travaill’s eyes flickered open. “Bret?”

“Hey, there,” Bret said, a ghastly smile on his face. He patted Travaill’s cheek with gentle fingers. “What the hell happened, Kevan?”

“Don’t…know…what happened,” Travaill rasped out. Bret grasped both of the ex-stormtrooper’s hands. “They said...said…a word.”

“What word?” Sabine asked, taking off her helmet to provide Travaill with another friendly, encouraging face.

Travaill blinked several times, trying to focus. “Awaken,” he whispered. “Was like…horror. Couldn’t control—shot the General, Bret.” Watery-red tears leaked from the corners of Travaill's eyes.

“Gods.” Bret took a breath. “Like the old clones and Sixty-Six. Is he dead, Kevan?”

Kevan’s mouth worked. “Not…me. Stun. Still…still set to…stun. So sorry, Bret. The Adepts…took him.”

Sabine felt chilled. The Sith Adepts had gotten their hands on the only Jedi Master left in the galaxy.

“Hey. Not your fault, all right?” Bret smiled at Travaill. “You hold on. We’re going to get Tamassa in here, and she’ll put you back together. Okay?”

Travaill smiled. “So…nice. Lothal...deserved better,” he said, exhaling.

Bret waited a beat and then swore a vicious streak when Travaill didn’t breathe in. “Wren, call for Tamassa anyway, there’s still a chance at resuscitation if that damned blade didn’t shred his heart.”

“Got it,” Sabine answered. She replaced her helmet and switched channels on the comm. “Tamassa, we have critical wounded on the second floor of the garrison. Human with severe blood loss, shock, and traumatic injury from two vibroblades in the chest, possibility of heart damage. Your team will have to use the north-end turbolift. It’s not as close, but south-end is down. Copy?”

“I copy,” Tamassa replied. “I’ll have a team in within five minutes. Is the patient still breathing?”

“No.” Sabine glanced back at Travaill, whose skin was extremely pale from blood loss. “I’ll meet your team once they’re inside the garrison.”

“Gods all,” Tamassa muttered. “Copy and out.”

Sabine forced herself to do a quick running tour of this floor and the one below, just in case. She didn’t find the Adepts, Kenobi, or anyone else.

On her way back to Travaill and Bret, she spied a cylinder lying on the floor that she hadn’t noticed before. She leaned down and grabbed it, her hand immediately recognizing the heavy weight after years of exposure to Kanan, Ezra, and Ahsoka.

Kenobi’s lightsaber.

Sabine bit her lip before switching channels again. “Rex, I have some bad news.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

They were three minutes past the initial two-minute recharge cycle, and the ion cannons still weren’t back online. “Dammit!” Ooros shouted, jinking past the _Ghost II_ with enough TIE fighters on her wing to stock several squads. “Get these things off of my ass!”

“Got it,” Ezra said. “Zeb, swinging you around in 3, 2…”

Zeb and Ezra’s timing was perfect. Ahsoka closed her eyes against the repeated bloom of fire, but not being able to see didn’t stop her hands from firing the quad guns in rapid succession. She could feel the deaths in the Force, bright flares that vanished like falling meteors. She regretted that loss of potential, but in this long war, with the odds stacked so fiercely against them, she chose herself and her people over enemy pilots, every time.

“I called it, it’s a rout,” Blue Six was saying. “Twelve just went down, Commander!”

“And took out an SD bridge crew with her,” Webb said in quiet grief. “Good girl.”

“We’re not going to last two more minutes to recharge!” Ezra shouted. “We’re all damned good at what we do, but we’re practically swimming in TIEs and Interceptors!”

“We can do it,” Hera said, and then swore. Ahsoka jerked against her restraints as the ship did a corkscrew and dive that the inertial dampers couldn’t quite keep up with. “Or maybe not!”

Ahsoka set her jaw and kept taking out the TIEs going after their ships. There wasn’t a choice.

 _In trouble, Obi-Wan is,_ Yoda whispered into her thoughts.

Ahsoka’s finger jerked on the trigger, but it was just as well; she took out another TIE with that blast. _I can’t help him, not right now!_

 _Know that, I do._ Ahsoka felt a gentle pat on her shoulder. _Coming, help is._

 _Who?_ There was no response. _Master Yoda, WHO?_

“Dammit!” Hera shouted. “Ahsoka, Kanan—you two had better unstrap and get to the pod. We’ve picked up two lines of Interceptors and rear shields are starting to fail.”

Kanan snorted. “Sweetheart, our marriage vows involved not leaving you to die alone during a space battle.”

“You went that extensive with your vows?” Ahsoka asked, grinning. “For the record, I’m not leaving, either.”

“I’m thorough!” Kanan yelled back. “Hera, you make this beautiful tub dance, because we’re not leaving, and we’re damned well not going to let the Imps take it down!”

“All right, fine!” Hera snapped, and threw on another burst of speed that pressed Ahsoka back against the chair. “Hang on and get ready!”

“Sooo, the new plan is to ram an SD?” Ezra asked. “I mean, we can do that, I’d just like a heads-up.”

“I’m not ramming anything. I’m playing chicken with a bunch of twits!” Hera retorted.

Ahsoka jerked the chair around and fired on the fresh chain of TIEs that had snuck up on their tail. She got the first three, but the fourth jumped right out of her firing path, its cannons blazing—

—and then it vanished in a fireball.

Ahsoka drew in a sharp breath and resettled her hands on the controls as a new fighter blew right through the debris cloud of the defunct TIE and came up alongside the _Ghost II._ The fighter shared some of a TIE’s central glass viewport design, but there the similarity ended. The quad wings on the fighter were amazing, organic shapes that surrounded the cockpit in arched gray lines, and each wingtip ended in a laser cannon.

Ahsoka’s heart was pounding as recognition surged within her breast. She swallowed against a terrible dryness in her mouth and stared at the solar-tinted cockpit window. She could make out the shadowed profile of a pilot, but no details.

Then a hand popped up in the window and waved at her before the fighter peeled off.

“Oh,” Ahsoka gasped. It was pure reflex that destroyed the next six TIEs that tried to fire on the ship. “A little warning would have been nice.”

 _Warn you, I did,_ Yoda returned smugly.

“Ahsoka? Who the hell was that? What’s wrong?” Kanan asked.

“I—” Ahsoka began, but it was cut-off by a wide-band signal, an override that would be heard by every comm in the area.

“You guys look like you’re having a lot of fun, but I’m gonna have to ask all Imperial vessels to stand down and surrender.”

Ahsoka had to resist the urge to clasp both hands over her mouth, her jangling emotions running the gamut of disbelief, horror, and shock. Force, she thought she would never have to go through this again…

…but that was _not_ Vader.

“You want them to surrender?” Ezra repeated in confusion. “That’s great, but as far as I can count, there’s just one of you.”

“I can count, too, Rebel scum,” one of the Imperial officers joined in. “We are some of the mightiest ships in the Imperial military, and we do not surrender to rabble!”

“Rabble?” Ahsoka choked back an inappropriate giggle when their rescuer sounded insulted. “Also, if you guys have the mightiest ships, things have gone to absolute shit for the Empire in the last year.”

“Amusing,” the officer said. “All pilots, concentrate your fire on that interesting new vessel. I want _him_ dead, first!”

“You’re funny. _E’chatch an’tresh bi nep’ta!”_

Hera made a strangled noise as an entire fleet of ships dropped out of hyperspace. Ahsoka got a quick glimpse as the _Ghost II_ came about, trying to deal with TIEs and SDs and a new threat, all at once. She’d never seen vessels like those before, and she’d traveled enough during the first war to know about a _lot_ of different ship types.

“By the Emperor’s soul,” a different Imperial officer whispered over the comm.

“Let me try this again,” Anakin Skywalker said. His voice was stern and professional, where before it had been light and teasing. “All Imperial vessels, these lovely ships behind me are fleet representatives from the Chiss Ascendency. Stand down and surrender, right now, and maybe they won’t turn you into so much dust.”

Two seconds later, a cluster of five ion bursts struck five of the six functional SDs.

“Huh. Okay, I can work with this,” Anakin said. “Hey, last ship still capable of flying! You want to surrender?”

“They’re not surrendering,” Hera said a moment later.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s called, ‘running away,’” Ezra added. “Hey, did we just win, or are we about to be turned into paste by the new guys?”

“Alliance vessels, I am Commander Rheet’ann’aku,” a cool, feminine voice said. Her accent was flat and stilted, which meant Basic was a new language for her. “We are here to assist only, not to turn any of your own ships into…paste.”

 _“G’atannt fluiri, ethant’ian ano,”_ Anakin said.

“That is what it means?” Rheet’ann’aku sniffed in displeasure. “Human analogies are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but at least it wasn’t more bees,” Anakin replied, as the running SD disappeared into hyperspace. “Damn, but they left behind an awful lot of TIEs.” There were a few desultory cannon blasts from the remaining TIE fighters, but none of them seemed to want to continue the engagement in light of the arrival of the new fleet.

“Attention…uh, new vessels. I’m Captain Westin, and apparently I just became the only ranking Imperial officer capable of speaking to you. If surrendering is still an option, we’ll take it.”

“Still an option, with conditions,” Anakin said, turning professional again.

Westin sighed. “Yes, sir, that’s fine, sir. What are the conditions?”

“Get all of these TIEs back into their hangars, and find room for the stragglers, if there are any. Commander Rheet’ann’aku is going to send fully armed military teams over to each SD to supervise as you get to make repairs to life support and other necessary systems. Try to weaponize again, and you’ll find out that Rheet’ann’aku is very, very good at her job, and that job is destroying things that displease her. Got it?”

“Honestly, sir, that’s a much better deal than I expected. What happens after that?”

“Depends on the Lothal. Your asses belong to them,” Anakin said.

“That is _also_ a much better deal than expected. Complying now, sir.” Westin dropped off the comm, presumably to swap back to an Imp-only frequency and get the TIEs in-bound.

Hera blew out a long sigh. “Well. This is different.”

“Someone should tell the Lothal that we won,” Zeb said.

“Did we actually win? Or are we just on the off-side of someone else’s pissing match?” Webb asked bluntly.

“Well, it’s kind of complicated…but yeah, you won.” The mutant TIE with the organic lines swooped in from above and took up position opposite Ahsoka’s gunner pod again. The solar tint on the transparisteel vanished, revealing a familiar human figure. Tall and lanky, his brown hair was cut short and yet still managed to be a complete mess. He was staring directly at her, lips quirked in a smile.

“Hey there, Spy Girl.”

“Master,” Ahsoka whispered, her lips widening in a tremulous smile. “It really is you.”

“Yeah, and a lot less insane than the previous model, too.” The smile faded. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait. You mean that’s Va—”

“Hey, _no.”_ Anakin cut Ezra off before he could finish. “Let’s try not to panic the three-hundred thousand people on those destroyers over there, all right?”

“Fine,” Ezra said gruffly. “But you tried to kill me!”

Even at this distance, Ahsoka could see the self-deprecating humor on Anakin’s face. “You’re still alive to complain about it. I must not have been trying very hard.”

Ahsoka finally convinced her hands that it was safe to let go of the firing controls. “That’s what Obi—” Ahsoka caught herself at the last second. “That’s what Ben said, too.”

‘Yeah.” Anakin glanced at Ahsoka again, frowning. “Speaking of, there is a Force ghost practically shouting in my ear that there is a problem on Lothal, and Ben is right in the middle of it. I’m going down there to find out what’s going on, and I’d like it a lot if none of you shot at me.”

“Well…” Kanan hesitated.   “A lot of us would really like to talk to you, but none of _us_ are going to shoot you.”

Ahsoka covered her eyes with one hand. No, they probably would not, but Rex and Wolffe were another story entirely.

“Understood,” Anakin replied. “I have some friends meeting us on the surface. Try not to shoot them, either. They are short and terrifying, but they’re good people.”

“No offense, but do you mean terrifying by Jedi standards, or Sith standards?” Kanan asked.

Anakin paused, as if considering it. “Both,” he said. “See you on the ground.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

When the Clawcraft settled in the field just outside of Lothal’s port, Anakin popped the canopy right away, but then he did nothing more than sit and breathe. He had _not_ counted on seeing anyone else he knew. Logically, it had been a possibility, but his own Padawan? That was such a long-shot that it was making his head hurt.

Anakin put aside that concern and let his senses speak to him, hoping for some clue as to what he was about to walk into. Lothal didn’t feel sickened, but the air quality was definitely not that great if the smell was any indication. There was fading aggression, leftovers from what must have been a recently-ended ground battle, as well.

He couldn’t sense Obi-Wan, but that didn’t tell him anything. That had been standard for over two years now.

By the time he climbed out of the ship, there was a group waiting to meet him. Anakin dropped down onto the ground and immediately picked out the Lothal’s leader. All of these people had an air of competence, and were beings used to being heard and obeyed, but she was different. The dark-skinned woman had what looked to be some horrific scarring, but she also had the grand poise of a queen.

He’d known a few queens. He knew the type.

“M’Lady,” Anakin said, granting her the half-bow a Jedi gave to those of unknown rank. “I’m looking for Ben Tanno’baijii.”

She looked him up and down with a single intense, glittering blue eye. “So are we.”

Anakin felt his shoulders drop as his back tensed. “For how long?”

“About an hour. Maybe a bit less,” she replied. “Can you help, or are you just here to look pretty?”

Anakin opened his mouth and then paused. “Wait, is that a compliment or disparagement?”

She smiled. “That depends on how effective you are at finding people.”

“I’m okay at it, but I have friends that are even better.” Anakin looked up and shaded his eyes, watching the two freighters from the battle upstairs approach. “We should probably wait for the others, though.”

“They’re not the only ones who are going to be arriving in a panic,” she said.

Anakin tried not to sigh. Great.

“I’m Silver.”

Anakin held out his left hand and grasped hers when she offered. “Ani.”

“Why are you looking for Ben, Ani?” Silver asked him, while some of the Lothal gave him evaluating looks.

“Well, I suspect you already know, but I’m looking for him because he’s family.” The freighters were landing; the one that looked like a _Kazellis_ gone wrong went down bumpy, like the pilot was unfamiliar with that ship’s particular nuances.

Silver’s remaining eyebrow rose in a perfect arch. “Oh?”

“Step-brother,” Anakin clarified. “It was kind of weird for us, too.”

Anakin stood his ground as the crews of both ships approached. There was a grown Togrutan occupying most of his attention, but with her were two human males, a Twi’lek female, and…

…and a Lasat.

The original Lothal rebels. Fuck, he was going to get shot.

Ahsoka was several centimeters taller than the girl in his dominant memories, and carried herself like a seasoned Jedi. He didn’t think she was a Jedi Master, though, not yet. There was something not quite in line, some lesson of the self Ahsoka had yet to learn.

She came to a halt about an arm’s length distant from him. They stared at each other for almost a full minute in complete silence before Anakin shook his head. “It is _really_ hard to feel guilty about Mace’s death right now.”

Ahsoka lifted her chin. “It wasn’t his fault—”

“That is such bantha shit!” Anakin yelled. “He didn’t tell me that you _weren’t dead!”_

“You couldn’t even light my pyre!” Ahsoka shouted back.

That was a low blow. “BECAUSE YOU WERE DEAD, AND IT WAS MY FAULT!”

Ahsoka glared at him. “NO, IT WASN’T!”

Anakin didn’t quite understand how they went from shouting to hugging, but suddenly they were. He wasn’t going to question it. Hugging was much better than stabbing.

“Is this typical for them?” one of the Lothal men asked. Anakin had to bite back a laugh, both from the comment and because the two other Jedi looked so damned baffled.

Two other Jedi. That was a damned nice thing to be able to say.

“My beautiful girl’s a Jedi Knight.”

Ahsoka stepped back, blushing. He couldn’t see it on her skin, but he’d always known. “No, I’m not.”

“So that’s why you’re still carrying lightsabers and acting like Obi-Wan,” Anakin said.

“I do not.”

Anakin grinned at her. “Oh, yeah, you do. It’s great, I’m sure he’s flattered.”

Ahsoka’s smile dimmed. “Speaking of.”

“Right.” Anakin turned back to Silver, who was waiting with an air of forced patience. “What happened?”

“Sith Adepts,” Silver replied, which made the bottom fall out of Anakin’s stomach. “And sleepers.”

Anakin closed his right hand in a fist. “I don’t know what you mean by that last part,” he said, but he had immediate suspicions, and none of them were good.

“We had some ex-stormtroopers on our side of things.” The man had a vague family resemblance to Silver, but paler skin and brown eyes. “The Sith Adepts said a word, and they targeted the Jedi without being able to help themselves.”

“Just like Order Sixty-Six,” the elder of the Jedi pair said.

Anakin shook his head when Ahsoka and the freighter crews stared at him. “Don’t look at me. It was against Imperial military law to ever do anything like 66 again.”

“Why?”

Anakin blew out a breath. Kanan? Caleb? He couldn’t remember the man’s name. “Because it made people fucking nuts. The insanity rate, the _suicide_ rate, post-66 was so high that a quiet draft had to be instituted on certain Outer Rim worlds. The higher the population density, the more likely you were to be selected.”

“Then who turned stormtroopers into sleeper agents?” the Twi’lek asked.

“Iceheart.” Anakin could have been wrong, but he didn’t think so. “It’s the sort of creepy, evil thing she likes to do.”

“ _You_ were creepy and evil,” the younger Jedi shot back. Bridger.

Anakin frowned at the man. “Remember how I mentioned that it would be a good idea to not panic the three-hundred thousand-odd people in orbit? Same thing applies down here.”

Bridger didn’t give up easily. “You still tried to kill me!”

Anakin made a show of peering closely at Bridger. “Did you actually die?”

“Well, no—” Bridger stuttered.

“Then take a number and get in line, along with almost everyone else,” Anakin snapped, and then stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. He did _not_ have time to deal with everyone taking personal offense that Vader had existed.

The Noghri group stepped out of various points of cover, the motion so swift and effective it looked like they’d appeared out of thin air.

“Karabast!” the Lasat yelped.

“Don’t shoot them. They’re here to help,” Anakin said, when it seemed as if the Lasat and half of the Lothal were about to do just that.

 _“Ary’ush,_ ” Khabarakh said in greeting. There was a bad moment when Anakin thought he was going to forget and do the old prostration, but Khabarakh turned it into a respectful bow. “Who are we seeking?”

“My brother,” Anakin told him, “but it’s by marriage, so you can’t go by my scent.”

 _“Brother?”_ Ahsoka repeated.

“Weird story; I’ll tell you later,” Anakin said. “Does anyone have something of Ben’s?”

Silver gave him a dry look. “Will a blood trail work?”

“Will a—” Anakin plastered his hand over his face _. For fuck’s sake, Obi-Wan._ “Yes, that will work. Where is it?”

“Inside the garrison,” Silver’s relative answered. “But your little gray friends want the trail, not the drying puddle. That one belongs to Travaill.”

“I think this is one of the most surreal conversations I’ve ever witnessed,” the Twi’lek said.

“You get used to it. _Chut_ ,” Anakin directed, and the Noghri melted back into the grass. “They’ll be on foot, and they’re still going to get to the garrison before us. Who’s Travaill?” he asked.

“One of the sleepers.” Silver looked grieved. “He’s the one who told us about Ben. The Adepts thanked Travaill for his service by embedding two vibroblades into his chest.”

Anakin swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then began the short walk into the city, followed by angry rebels, a bemused former apprentice, and some really miffed Jedi.

The walk gave him time to learn names, which was helpful. Half of Lothal’s leadership was in the group that had met him, with the other half coming in from a different garrison.

Inside the old Academy, Anakin had to stop and stare at the floor. “Literal blood trail,” he murmured, uneasy. “What from?”

“Vibroblade to the hand,” Grey said, and Anakin winced. “We left him with Travaill because he was having trouble staying on his feet.” Grey scowled at the other bloodstain on the floor. “If I’d had any idea—”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Anakin said, which made Kanan and Wren eye him like he’d started speaking backwards. “Maybe you could have done something, or maybe we’d have two bodies. Second-guessing won’t help, believe me.”

“Does that stop you from doing it?” Grey asked him.

“Not really.” Anakin noticed the lightsaber that Wren had attached to her belt. “Don’t lose that.”

“You don’t want it?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“Would you give it to me?” Anakin countered.

Wren’s arms were crossed, her body language all but screaming that she didn’t want him here. “No.”

“Didn’t think so. Don’t worry about it. Just be ready to hand it over when we find him.” He already had three of Obi-Wan’s lightsabers, anyway.

The beginning of Obi-Wan’s attempt at painting the garrison’s floor was downstairs. Anakin could sense the flare of recent Force energy, and tracked part of it to the wall. There was a partially crushed lightsaber hilt snugged up against the corner, with twinkling bits of ex-lightsaber crystal spilling out of the side.

“We didn’t touch anything,” Grey said. “Given it being Sith and all, I didn’t want anyone to be…”

“Corrupted?” Anakin finished, bitterly amused. “It doesn’t quite work that way, but there _are_ Sith traps.”

“Is it a trap?” Ahsoka asked, giving the broken lightsaber a look of distaste. “It doesn’t exactly feel pleasant.”

“I’m not getting anything except ‘broken,’” Bridger supplied.

“I don’t think so. I think it just reeks of having been handled by a waste of sentient life,” Anakin said, and bent down to retrieve the hilt.

It didn’t matter that he used his right hand, not left. The Force didn’t care about bionics or flesh. Contact was always a conduit.

_Our Master is displeased with this one._

_What shall we do with him, brother?_

_The Apprentice must never overthrow the Master. We will do what is necessary._

Anakin realized he was clutching the back of his head, teeth gritted tight. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart was pounding with a panicked need for oxygen.

His throat burned, like he’d screamed and choked it back.

“Anakin?” Ahsoka was kneeling next to him, her hand resting on his shoulder. The contact was reassuring; the lightsaber still clutched in his hand was not. He tossed the hilt and tried to remember how to breathe without gasping.

“Snips,” he whispered. “Obi-Wan is in so much fucking trouble.”

**Author's Note:**

> That is a whole mess of blood.


End file.
